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GRINNIDGE: “You can have all you want of it at the market price.”

RANSOM: “I don’t mean your legal advice.”

GRINNIDGE: “I’m sorry. What have you been doing?”

RANSOM: “I’ve been making an ass of myself.”

GRINNIDGE: “Wasn’t that rather superfluous?”

RANSOM: “If you please, yes. But now, it you’re capable of listening to me without any further display of your cross-examination wit, I should like to tell you how it happened.”

GRINNIDGE: “I will do my best to veil my brilliancy. Go on.”

RANSOM: “I went up to Ponkwasset early in September for the foliage.”

GRINNIDGE: “And staid till late in October. There must have been a reason for that. What was her name? Foliage?”

RANSOM, coming up to the corner of the chimney-piece, near which his friend sits, and talking to him directly over the register: “I think you’ll have to get along without the name for the present. I’ll tell you by and by.” As Mr. Ransom pronounces these words, Miss Reed, on her side of the partition, lifts her head with a startled air, and, after a moment of vague circumspection, listens keenly. “But she was beautiful. She was a blonde, and she had the loveliest eyes–eyes, you know, that could be funny or tender, just as she chose–the kind of eyes I always liked.” Miss Reed leads forward over the register. “She had one of those faces that always leave you in doubt whether they’re laughing at you, and so keep you in wholesome subjection; but you feel certain that they’re GOOD, and that if they did hurt you by laughing at you, they’d look sorry for you afterward. When she walked you saw what an exquisite creature she was. It always made me mad to think I couldn’t PAINT her walk.”

GRINNIDGE: “I suppose you saw a good deal of her walk.”

RANSOM: “Yes; we were off in the woods and fields half the time together.” He takes a turn towards the window.

MISS REED, suddenly shutting the register on her side: “Oh!”

MISS SPAULDING, looking up from her music: “What is it, Ethel?”

MISS REED: “Nothing, nothing; I–I–thought it was getting too warm. Go on, dear; don’t let me interrupt you.” After a moment of heroic self-denial she softly presses the register open with her foot.

RANSOM, coming back to the register: “It all began in that way. I had the good fortune one day to rescue her from a–cow.”

MISS REED: “Oh, for shame!”

MISS SPAULDING, desisting from her piano: “What IS the matter?”

MISS REED, clapping the register to: “This ridiculous book! But don’t–don’t mind me, Nettie.” Breathlessly: “Go–go–on!” Miss Spaulding resumes, and again Miss Reed softly presses the register open.

RANSOM, after a pause: “The cow was grazing, and had no more thought of hooking Miss–“

MISS REED: “Oh, I didn’t suppose he WOULD!–Go on, Nettie, go on! The hero–SUCH a goose!”

RANSOM: “I drove her away with my camp-stool, and Miss–the young lady–was as grateful as if I had rescued her from a menagerie of wild animals. I walked home with her to the farm house, and the trouble began at once.” Pantomime of indignant protest and burlesque menace on the part of Miss Reed. “There wasn’t another well woman in the house, except her friend Miss Spaulding, who was rather old and rather plain.” He takes another turn to the window.

MISS REED: “Oh!” She shuts the register, but instantly opens it again. “Louder, Nettie.”