V
But this laughter of Sophy was so winsome, as she glanced at him through her shielding fingers, that Loring gave way and began to laugh himself. This was another new sensation for him—the joining in a laugh against himself.
"I'm a frightful ass, I know, to mind so much when you tease me," he said as they walked on. "But you make me feel such a fool—such a 'pretty fellow'...."
"You are a pretty fellow," murmured Sophy. "When you get red with anger like that you're quite dazzling."
"Oh, I say! Don't you think you're a bit too hard on me?" Loring protested.
He still writhed inwardly. It is acute agony to six and twenty to be made fun of by the object of its adoration.
Bobby's voice piped in again.
"I don't fink you're pretty," he remarked.
"Thanks, old chap," said Loring, this time without laughter.