But I never thought a thing until he opened his door and asked me _please_ to change my shoes and let the--the confounded dirt go, and didn't I have any dishes in the house but what were made of that abominable tin s-stuff," she finished in a wail of misery.
Billy burst into a ringing laugh, but Marie's aghast face and upraised hand speedily reduced it to a convulsive giggle.
"You dear child! Cyril's always like that when he's composing," soothed Billy.

"I supposed you knew it, dear.

Don't you fret! Run along and make him his favorite pudding, and by night both of you will have forgotten there ever were such things in the world as tins and shoes and carpet sweepers that clatter." Marie shook her head.

Her dismal face did not relax.
"You don't understand," she moaned.

"It's myself.