Where are we going, Dick?
Oh, do stop singing like that.

People will think we're mad.' 'Let 'em think,--if the exertion doesn't kill them.

They don't know who we are, and I'm sure I don't care who they are.

My faith, Maisie, you're looking lovely!' Maisie stared directly in front of her and did not reply.

The wind of a keen clear winter morning had put colour into her cheeks.