Sometimes she is so sweet and docile that I think I'm teaching her to be a civilised person, and then she flies off at a tangent and she's as unruly and intractable as she was at first." "How long has she been here now ?" "Nearly a month.

I've tried and Betty has tried,--and, yes, Azalea has tried herself,--but we can't seem to--" "Camouflage her!" "That's just it! I want her to look like the background she's against here,--and she doesn't!" "I should say not! Last night at dinner she threw herself back in her chair and yawned openly--" "Openly! It was all of that! I saw her,--across the table through the flowers.

And, Billee,--she's queer--that's what she is,--queer!" "Have you noticed that, too?
Yes, she _is_ queer,--here take this Little Flower.

She's nearly asleep." "So she is,--give her to me,--there, there, mudder's pressus,--petty poppity,--yes, she's queer!" "Who?
Fleurette ?" "You know very well I don't mean Fleurette! I mean that Pride of the West,--that stranger within our gates,--that thorn in the flesh,--that awful Azalea!" "Meaning me ?" and Azalea herself popped her head in at the nursery door.
"Yes," replied Farnsworth, imperturbably, "meaning you.

Come in, Azalea, I want to speak to you.