"You don't speak as though you cared."

"You must know how deeply interested I am."

"Then why don't you ask to see the poem?"

"Was it on butterbeans?"

"The idea! Sylvia has better taste."

"I suppose I'd better look into this poem."

"You are not to laugh at it!"

"I shall weep."

"No; you are not to weep. Promise."

"What am I to promise?"

"That you will read it unmoved."

"I do promise--solemnly, cheerfully."

"Then come and get it."

I went over and stood under the window. Georgiana soon returned and
dropped down to me a piece of writing-paper.

"Sylvia wrote it before she began to think about the boys."