"He didn't mean we mustn't, either.

Father always worries so." It would have been well for Gypsy if her father's _wish_ had been to her what her mother's was--as binding as a command.

"Just think," observed Gypsy, as they strolled on through the fallen leaves and redcup mosses, "just think of their sitting still and reading poetry on a picnic! I can't get over it.

Miss Melville didn't used to do such stupid things.
It's just 'cause she's married." "How do you know but you'll do just the same some day ?" "Catch me! I'm not going to be married at all." "Not going to be married! Why, I am, and I'm going to have a white velvet dress too." "Well, you may.

But I wouldn't for a whole trunkful of white velvet dresses--no, I wouldn't for two dozen trunkfuls.