"Pshaw! if it was some girls," said Magnus. "But it will make no difference to her either. You've both worn your hearts out—supposing you ever had any."
"Thanks—awfully! And you think Miss Curry might be induced to hand over 'those fossil remains that she terms her affections' to me?"
"To your temporary care. You wear chevrons," said Magnus. "And your affections are as fossilised as hers, allowing for the argument's sake that such things ever existed. Just stroll up on the other side, when Rig's around. She'll be delighted. And as neither of you could possibly fall in love with anybody, there'll be nobody hurt."
"Except Rig."
"Rig!" Magnus said impatiently. "Rig ought to be cut in little pieces and sewed up some other way."
"Kin," said Mr. Trent, striking an easy attitude across the back of a chair, "you amuse me."
"Well, clear out and amuse yourself," said Magnus. "I've got a previous with this old book. And if Catkins finds you here, you'll be skinned for all he is worth."
Which warning Mr. Trent saw fit to heed.