I believe you're rather glad when I've gone--relieved!' 'Well, my dear,' he answered, 'look how you worry all the time! If you'd only have what I call a quiet set-down and a chat, without being always on the fidget, always looking either at the glass or at the clock, one might _not_ have that feeling.' Her colour rose, and tears came to her eyes.

'Oh, then you _are_ glad when I'm gone!' She pouted.

'You don't care for me a bit, Vincy,' she said, in a plaintive voice.
He sat down next to her on the little striped sofa, and took her hand.
'Oh, give over, Mavis, do give over! I wish you wouldn't carry on like that; you do carry on, Mavis dear, don't you?
Some days you go on something cruel, you do really.

Reely, I mean.

Now, cheer up and be jolly.