“Am I? Oh, I’m not. But—do you really care whether I am or not?”
“Care? Sure! Course I do!”
“Do you really?” She swooped on him, sat on the arm of his chair.
He hated the emotional drain of having to appear fond of her. He stroked her hand, smiled up at her dutifully, and sank back.
“George, I wonder if you really like me at all?”
“Course I do, silly.”
“Do you really, precious? Do you care a bit?”
“Why certainly! You don’t suppose I’d be here if I didn’t!”
“Now see here, young man, I won’t have you speaking to me in that huffy way!”
“I didn’t mean to sound huffy. I just—” In injured and rather childish tones: “Gosh almighty, it makes me tired the way everybody says I sound huffy when I just talk natural! Do they expect me to sing it or something?”