"That's why I brought it." "Oh, my grief and conscience, Cyril, how _can_ you stand it ?--to climb stairs like this," panted Aunt Hannah, as she reached the top of the last flight and dropped breathlessly into the nearest chair--from which Marie had rescued a curtain just in time.
"Well, I'm not sure I could--if I were always to eat a Thanksgiving dinner just before," laughed Cyril.

"Maybe I ought to have waited and let you rest an hour or two." "But 'twould have been too dark, then, to see the rug," objected Marie.
"It's a genuine Persian--a Kirman, you know; and I'm so proud of it," she added, turning to the others.

"I wanted you to see the colors by daylight.

Cyril likes it better, anyhow, in the daytime." "Fancy Cyril _liking_ any sort of a rug at any time," chuckled Bertram, his eyes on the rich, softly blended colors of the rug before him.
"Honestly, Miss Marie," he added, turning to the little bride elect, "how did you ever manage to get him to buy _any_ rug?
He won't have so much as a ravelling on the floor up here to walk on." A startled dismay came into Marie's blue eyes.
"Why, I thought he wanted rugs," she faltered.

"I'm sure he said--" "Of course I want rugs," interrupted Cyril, irritably.