Bobby went, nothing loath. He was not at all a shy child, though he was very reserved as a rule.
Sophy could not have said why she was surprised and rather disappointed at the evident fancy which he had taken to Belinda Horton. She did not divine that even the seven-year-old man vibrated to the spell of Belinda's surcharged femininity.
Bobby lounged against the girl's knee and stared up into her face out of sober, dark-grey eyes.
"Well?" said Belinda, taking his chin in her strong fingers and shaking it slightly. "Why do you like it?"
"'Cause you're beautiful," said he boldly.
Belinda laughed, ran her hand the "wrong way" over his face, and picking up a lump of sugar, pressed it between his willing lips.
"There!" she said. "If you were older, 'twould be a kiss—but I believe little boys don't think kisses as sweet as sugar."
"I think yours would be," he returned promptly, having tucked away the lump of sugar in his cheek.
"Bobby!" called his mother. "Don't be forward...."
"Oh, don't snub him ... please," Belinda said. "He's not 'forward'—but he's going to be a dreadful flirt. My! young man, but you're going to lead the girls a dance when you know how—ain't you?"