It was still on her mind when I bade her adieu; and she said to me, in her pretty coaxing way⁠—as if I were a doll, I used to think:

“Now don’t get up at five o’clock, you naughty boy. It’s so nonsensical!”

“My love,” said I, “I have work to do.”

“But don’t do it!” returned Dora. “Why should you?”

It was impossible to say to that sweet little surprised face, otherwise than lightly and playfully, that we must work to live.

“Oh! How ridiculous!” cried Dora.

“How shall we live without, Dora?” said I.

“How? Any how!” said Dora.