"Did it slam?" she asked. "It must have been the draught. There's an awful draught around this apartment—haven't you noticed it, Riley?"
"I haven't noticed nuthin' excep' that ye are a bad little gurl."
"It's the 'divvle' in me—coming out, isn't it, Riley? That's what you told mamma Eleanor, and you ought to know."
"Shure, I ought ter know, an' I do know."
"I thought you did." Patricia smiled sweetly. "But if a person has the 'divvle' in him, it is much better to let it get out."
"'Twud take more room than there is here ter let it all out iv ye," retorted the irate Riley.
"You are no gentleman, Mr. Riley, to speak to a lady like that," she said, severely. "You may go now."
"Will ye be th' good gurl if I lave ye by yersel'?"
"How do I know if it's all out of me?"
"Shure, it oughter be," he declared, in despair. "Will ye thry?"