You must be ill.

Let me take you to Miss Neilson's." "No, no, thank you," cried the girl, struggling to her feet, the vivid red again flooding her face.

"I have a lesson--to give." "Nonsense! You're not fit to give a lesson.

Besides, they are all folderol, anyway, half of them.

A dozen lessons, more or less, won't make any difference; they'll play just as well--and just as atrociously.
Come, I insist upon taking you to Miss Neilson's." "No, no, thank you! I really mustn't.