"Is it as nice as the jar-fly's?"
She held up an arresting finger. "If you talk that way I shall take it back."
"You can't." He stowed the pebble safely away in an inside pocket, and Gwen, seeing herself worsted, turned the subject.
"Let me see your collection," she said.
He untied his handkerchief and displayed the carefully selected varieties. "Aren't they fine?" he said.
"They certainly are. I quite envy you the hoard. With the eye of an artist you have made a judicious choice. By the way, why aren't you sketching this afternoon?"
"Because I prefer to gather pebbles."
"It seems to me that you are in rather a—what shall I call it?—rather a difficult mood."
"Am I?"
"Aren't you?"