“No, my dear, indeed! Let me explain to you what I mean.”

“I think I don’t want to know,” said Dora.

“But I want you to know, my love. Put Jip down.”

Dora put his nose to mine, and said “Boh!” to drive my seriousness away; but, not succeeding, ordered him into his Pagoda, and sat looking at me, with her hands folded, and a most resigned little expression of countenance.

“The fact is, my dear,” I began, “there is contagion in us. We infect everyone about us.”

I might have gone on in this figurative manner, if Dora’s face had not admonished me that she was wondering with all her might whether I was going to propose any new kind of vaccination, or other medical remedy, for this unwholesome state of ours. Therefore I checked myself, and made my meaning plainer.