I Do Not Want A Boy. I

Sir Richard Sighed. "rid Yourself Of The Notion That I Cherish Any Villainous Designs Upon Your Person," He Said. "i Imagine I Might Well Be Your Father. How Old Are You?" "i Am Turned Seventeen." "well, I Am Nearly Thirty," Said Sir Richard. Miss Creed Worked This Out. "you Couldn't Possibly Be My Father!" "i Am Far Too Drunk To Solve Arithmetical Problems. Let It Suffice That I Have Not The Slightest Intention Of Making Love To You.

Perhaps,” Murmured His Lordship, “i Yielded To A Compassionate Impulse.” “a What?” Gasped His Best Friend. “oh, Did You Think I Never Did So?” Said His Lordship, The Satirical Glint In His Eyes Extremely Pronounced. “you Wrong Me! I Do, Sometimes—not Frequently, Of Course, But Every Now And Then!

And Now I Wish I Hadn’t Been Civil, Because He Says He Shall Not Despair! He Is As Stupid As Endymion!” “no, No!” Said Alverstoke Soothingly. “nobody Could Be As Stupid As Endymion!

God Knows I'm No Saint, But I Don't Think I'm More Of A Sinner Than Any Other Man.

You Will Allow That One's Curiosity Must Be Aroused When One Learns That A Lady Is Prepared To Elope To Escape From Advances One Had Not The Least Intention Of Making!