He stopped just as suddenly as he'd begun.

Why, I was right in the middle of telling about a concert for charity we got up just before I came away, and how Mother had practiced for days and days with the young man who played the violin, when all of a sudden Father jerked his watch from his pocket and said: "There, there, Mary, it's getting late.

You've talked enough--too much.

Now go to bed.

Good-night." Talked too much, indeed! And who'd been making me do all the talking, I should like to know?
But, of course, I couldn't _say_ anything.
That's the unfair part of it.