I hope you follow. The manners and customs of good society must be observed on the ground floor where visitors may happen; upstairs one relaxes a little. "Do you know," Margery went on with the air of a discoverer, "you mustn't say 'prayers' downstairs. Or 'corsets.'" "I never do," I affirmed. "Well, anyhow I never will again." "Why mayn't you?" "I don't know," I said sleepily. "Say prehaps." "Well--_prehaps_ it's because your mother tells you not to." "Well, 'at's a _silly_ fing to say," said Margery scornfully. "It is. I'm thoroughly ashamed of it. I apologise. Good-night." And I closed my eyes again. "I fought you were going to play wiv me, Mr Bingle," sighed Margery to herself. "My name is _not_ Bingle," I said, opening one eye. "Why isn't it Bingle?" "The story is a very long and sad one. When I wake up I will tell it to you. Good-night." "Tell it to me now." There was no help for it. "Once upon a time," I said rapidly, "there was a man called Bingle, Oliver Bingle, and he married a lady called Pringle. And his brother married a lady called Jingle. And his other brother married a Miss Wingle. And his cousin remained single.... That is all." "Oh, I see," said Margery doubtfully. "Now will you play wiv me?" How can one resist the pleading of a young cheild? "All right," I said. "We'll pretend I'm a little girl, and you're my mummy, and you've just put me to bed.... Good-night, mummy dear." "Oh, but I must cover you up." She fetched a tablecloth, and a pram-cover, and _The Times_, and a handkerchief, and the cat, and a doll's what-I-mustn't-say-downstairs, and a cushion; and she covered me up and tucked me in. "'Ere, 'ere, now go to sleep, my darling," she said, and kissed me lovingly. "Oh, Margie, you dear," I whispered. "You called me 'Margie'!" she cried in horror. "I meant 'Mummy.' Good-night." One, two, three seconds passed rapidly. "It's morning," said a bright voice in my ear. "Get up." "I'm very ill," I pleaded; "I want to stay in bed all day." "But your dear uncle," said Margery, inventing hastily, "came last night after you were in bed, and stayed 'e night. Do you see? And he wants you to sit on his chest in bed and talk to him." "Where is he? Show me the bounder." "'Ere he is," said Margery, pointing at me. "But look here, I can't sit on my own chest and talk to myself. I'll take the two parts if you insist, Sir Herbert, but I can't play them simultaneously. Not even Irving----" "Why can't you play vem simrulaleously?" "Well, I can't. Margie, _will_ you let me go to sleep?" "Nope," said Margery, shaking her head. "You should say, 'No, thank you, revered and highly respected uncle.'" "No _hank_ you, Mr Cann." "I have already informed you that my name is not Bingle; and I have now to add that neither is it Cann." "Why neiver is it Cann?" "That isn't grammar. You should say, 'Why can it not either?'" "Why?" "I don't know." "Say prehaps."