e result. Come
now, you'll have to marry somebody, sometime."

_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"I confess I don't see the necessity."

_True Love_ (morosely).--"You're the sort of woman men won't leave in
undisturbed spinsterhood; they'll keep on badgering you."

_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"Oh, I don't mind the badgering of a number of
men; it's rather nice. It's the one badger I find obnoxious."

_True Love_ (impatiently).--"That's just the perversity of things. I
could put a stop to the protestations of the many; I should like nothing
better--but the pertinacity of the one! Ah, well! I can't drop that
without putting an end to my existence."

_Bailiff's Daughter_ (politely).--"I shouldn't think of suggesting
anything so extreme."

_True Love_ (quoting).--"'Mrs. Hauksbee proceeded to take the conceit out
of Pluffles as you remove the ribs of an umbrella before re-covering.'
However, you couldn't ask me anything seriously that I wouldn't do, dear
Mistress Perversity."

_Bailiff's Daughter_ (yielding a point).--"I'll put that boldly to the
proof. Say you don't love me!"

_True Love_ (seizing his advantage).--"I don't! It's imbecile and
besotted devotion! Tell me, when may I come to take you away?"

_Bailiff's Daughter_ (sighing).--"It's like asking me to leave Heaven."

{Phoebe and Gladwish: p115.jpg}

_True Love_.--"I know it; she told me where to find you,--Thornycroft is
the seventh poultry-farm I've visited,--but you could never leave Heaven,
you can't be happy without poultry, why that is a wish easily gratified.
I'll get you a farm to-morrow; no, it's Saturday, and the real estate
offices close at noon, but on Monday, without fail. Your ducks and
geese, always carrying it along with you. All you would have to do is to
admit me; Heaven is full of twos. If you shall swim on a crystal
lake--Phoebe told me what a genius you have for getting them out of the
muddy pond; she was sitting beside it when I called, her hand in that of
a straw-coloured person named Gladwish, and the ground in her vicinity
completely strewn with votive offerings. You shall splash your silver
sea with an ivory wand; your hens shall have suburban cottages, each with
its garden; their perches shall be of satin-wood and their water dishes
of mother-of-pearl. You shall be the Goose Girl and I will be the Swan
Herd--simply to be near you--for I hate live poultry. Dost like the
picture? It's a little like Claude Melnotte's, I confess. T