By such slow accuracies as these are we conveyed, all our poor mortal days, from realism to romance, and with a shocking precipitance are we afterwards flung back, out of romance into realism, our natural home, again.
"Yes--four dolls I have.

My mother will give me another if I ask her.
Would your mother ?" "Yes," said Barbara, untruthfully.
"That's my governess, Miss Marsh, there, with the green hat, that is.
I've had her two months." "Yes," said Barbara, gazing with adoring eyes.
"She's going away next week.

There's another coming.

I can do sums, can you ?" "Yes," again from Barbara.
"I can do up to twice-sixty-three.

I'm nine.