"She won't like you any better for all that scent and washing."

"Which of these neckties do you like?"

"I don't know.... I wish you'd be quick. Come on!"

As he fixed his tie with a pearl pin he whistled the "Wedding March."
Catching Frank's eyes, he laughed and sang at the top of his voice as
he went down the passage.

Lizzie was reading in one of the arm-chairs that stood by the high
chimney-piece tall with tiles and blue vases. The stiffness and glare
of the red cloth in which the room was furnished, contrasted with the
soft colour of the tapestry which covered one wall. The round table
shone with silver, and an agreeable smell of coffee and sausages
pervaded the room. Lizzie looked up astonished; but without giving
her time to ask questions, Mike seized her and rushed her up and
down.

"Let me go! let me go!" she exclaimed. "Are you mad?"

Frank caught up his fiddle. At last Lizzie wrenched herself from
Mike.

"What do you mean? ... Such nonsense!"

Laughing, Mike placed her in a chair, and uncovering a dish, said--

"What shall I give you this happy day?"