Good heavens! She was discussing love-making. ‘Knew you had the lad with you, and thought you were merely delayed. "Tell me the truth, I implore you," cried Thames. She had arranged for a supper of tea, a boiled egg, and some tinned peaches. Well, I don’t think that’s fair. Master Thames Ditton, I'll do your biddin'; and you, Misther Quilt Arnold, may do your worst, I defy you. “I’ll run, too,” she volunteered. “Yes! I must! The thing is becoming a torture to me. You jumped, and I think that you left me. “There is something which I must say to you.
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