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him as a tornado, rushing into the nursery in evening dress, but without his coat, and brandishing in his hand a recalcitrant white tie.)

(implying that he has searched for her everywhere and that the nursery is a strange place in which to find her). Oh, here you are, Mary.

(knowing at once what is the matter). What is the matter, George dear?

(as if the word were monstrous). Matter! This tie, it will not tie. (He waxes sarcastic.) Not round my neck. Round the bed-post, oh yes; twenty times have I made it up round the bed-post, but round my neck, oh dear no; begs to be excused.

(in a joyous transport). Say it again, father, say it again!

(witheringly). Thank you. (Goaded by a suspiciously crooked smile on face) I warn you, Mary, that unless this tie is round my neck we don’t go out to dinner to-night, and if I don’t go out to dinner tonight I never go to the office again, and if I