See?
I _was_ trying to brush up against them, so that I wouldn't interfere with your Art.

Then, when you accused me of gallivanting off with--" But Bertram swept her back into his arms, and not for some minutes could Billy make a coherent speech again.
Then Bertram spoke.
"See here, Billy," he exploded, a little shakily, "if I could get you off somewhere on a desert island, where there weren't any Aunt Hannahs or Kates, or Talks to Young Wives, I think there'd be a chance to make you happy; but--" "Oh, but there was truth in it," interrupted Billy, sitting erect again.
"I _didn't_ know how to run a house, and it was perfectly awful while we were having all those dreadful maids, one after the other; and no woman should be a wife who doesn't know--" "All right, all right, dear," interrupted Bertram, in his turn.

"We'll concede that point, if you like.

But you _do_ know now.

You've got the efficient housewife racket down pat even to the last calory your husband should be fed; and I'll warrant there isn't a Mary Ellen in Christendom who can find a spot of ignorance on you as big as a pinhead! So we'll call that settled.