Then the conversation had ensued.
"Yes, foolishness," repeated Sylvia, with a sort of hysterical violence.

She sat out on the front porch with some mending, and she sewed feverishly as she spoke.
"I don't know what you mean by foolishness, I guess, Sylvia." Henry sat on the porch step.

He wore a black mohair coat, and his thin hair was well brushed.
"It does seem," said Sylvia, "as if a young man and a young woman might live in the same house and behave themselves." Henry stared at her.

"Why, Sylvia, you don't mean--" "I mean just what I said--behave themselves.

It does seem sometimes as if everything any girl or young man thought of was falling in love and getting married," Sylvia said--"falling in love and getting married," with a bitter and satirical emphasis.
"I don't see," said Henry, "that there is very much against Mr.Allen and Rose's falling in love and getting married.