Most of the time, I'll own, we can twist him around our little fingers.

But not now.

You'll see.

In the first place, she's the daughter of his dead friend, and she DID write a pathetic little letter.
It got to the inside of me, anyhow, when I thought she was a boy." "A boy! Who wouldn't think she was a boy ?" interposed Cyril.

"'Billy,' indeed! Can you tell me what for any sane man should have named a girl 'Billy' ?" "For William, your brother, evidently," retorted Bertram, dryly.
"Anyhow, he did it, and of course our mistake was a very natural one.
The dickens of it is now that we've got to keep it from her, so Will says; and how--hush! here they are," he broke off, as there came the sound of wheels stopping before the house.
There followed the click of a key in the lock and the opening of a heavy door; then, full in the glare of the electric lights stood a plainly nervous man, and a girl with startled, appealing eyes.
"My dear," stammered William, "this is my sister, Kate, Mrs.Hartwell; and here are Cyril and Bertram, whom I've told you of.