Constance.—"Why, papa! Oh, well, I won't worry him. I suppose he's found something about cutting down the army appropriations; that always absorbs him. What shall I try next, Mr. Bartlett?"
Bartlett.—"You can rub in your middle distance."
Constance, laughing.—"I'll try. But I think I should be at my best beyond the vanishing point."
Bartlett.—"Oh, I don't believe that! Perhaps it annoys you to have me looking over your shoulder while you work?"
Constance.—"No. Oh, no."
Bartlett.—"I see that it does."
Constance.—"It makes me a little nervous. I'm afraid of you, you know."
Bartlett.—"I didn't know I was so terrible. How far off shall I go, to be agreeable?"
Constance, laughing.—"Across the room."
Bartlett.—"Shall you like me better at that distance?"