Don't be angry.

I know you have one yourself too often.

We should both of us have done better, if What is to be had been left What might have been.

I am quite a little serious thing now, and not teasing you.

Let each of us forbear, this one time, on our own account, and on the other's!' Disarmed by this glimpse of a woman's nature in the spoilt child, though for an instant disposed to resent it as seeming to involve the enforced infliction of himself upon her, Edwin Drood stands watching her as she childishly cries and sobs, with both hands to the handkerchief at her eyes, and then--she becoming more composed, and indeed beginning in her young inconstancy to laugh at herself for having been so moved--leads her to a seat hard by, under the elm-trees.
[Picture: Under the trees] 'One clear word of understanding, Pussy dear.