I’m in a mess—a nasty mess! a filthy mess! Oh, no end of a mess! “Do you hear, Ann Veronica?—you’re in a nasty, filthy, unforgivable mess! “Haven’t I just made a silly mess of things? “Forty pounds! I haven’t got twenty!” She got up, stamped with her foot, and then, suddenly remembering the lodger below, sat down and wrenched off her boots. Diane spooned warm apple-rhubarb pie onto the girl’s plates, topping each with scoops of ice cream. And, in spite of the boy's resistance, he plunged his hands into his pockets, and drew forth the miniature. It was shameful, but again, her mother had prepared her for it. Never! Perhaps some day, quite soon, she might regret that breakfast-room. I wonder how it is,” she added, “that boys always make love so impertinently.
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