"Of pies cooking," Chetwood repeated. "Nice, juicy pies."
"Pies—bah!" Miss Jean ejaculated.
"Say not so," Chetwood responded. "I admire pie. The land of my birth, I sadly admit, is deficient in pie. But here I adopt the customs of the country. I am what might be called a pie—oneer—"
"Ugh! Awful!" Miss Jean shuddered.
"Now I thought that quite bright."
"That's the saddest part of it."
"My word, what a—er—slam! Strange that you should feel such a sincere affection for—"
"I don't know whether I do or not!"
"Then, Miss Mackay," Chetwood demanded, "what is the meaning of your conduct?"
Miss Jean bit her lip, blushed, and finally decided to laugh. "I was getting sentimental for a moment," she confessed. "Your little word picture had me going. And all the time you were fooling. That's dangerous, young man."