A sudden shower of olives dropped down upon them like a great pelting rain.
"Oh, Elena, where are you, you little witch! Ah, I see you. Shall I shake you down out of the tree?"
A gay, rippling laugh mocked him.
"Lena, come down. The little girl is here who has the squirrel named Snippy, and the gull."
"I thought it was Olive. I was going to crown her with her namesakes. Why did they give her that name, like hard, bitter fruit?"
"Why are girls named Rose and Lily?"
"Oh, they are pretty names, and sweet."
"Well, you see, no one consulted me about it. Please, come down."
She laughed again, like the shivering of glass that made a hundred echoes. Then there was a rustling among the branches, and a lithe figure stood before them, looking as if she might fly the next moment.
"Lena! Lena!" and Victor caught her by the shoulder. "What did you promise this very morning—that you wouldn't torment Olive, but behave discreetly."