She shook it back and sat a little farther off, with her eyes and mouth open as he read in a rather gruff voice:
“Sonnet.”
“What’s a sonnet, Clifford?”
He was rather baffled. “This is.”
He went on:
“‘The day when first I saw
Her standing by the door,
I was taken by surprise
By her pretty blue eyes,
And then I thought her hair
So very fair
That I felt inclined to sing
About Mrs. Pickering.’”
“Lovely! How beautiful!” exclaimed Cissy, like a true woman. “But Mrs. Pickering! Fancy! Does it mean mummy?”
“Why, yes. As a matter of fact it certainly does.”
“Oh, Clifford! How clever! How splendid! But mustn’t she know it?”
“Oh no. I’d rather not. At any rate, not now.”