"Warmth comes from within, doesn't it? You wouldn't want an icicle of a woman."
"I am not afraid that you would be an icicle."
Peggy was showing strong signs of disgust, but Elizabeth was listening with parted lips and shining eyes. She had forgotten that she was eavesdropping, forgotten everything except that Buddy's girl did not want to give up her chance of learning something that Buddy could teach her. She expected the next words when they came.
"I would be an icicle—to you."
The suitor did not seem to realize the significance of this statement.
"All I want is a chance to melt the icicle," he said, complacently.
"Goop!" said Peggy in a loud whisper. Then she sneezed, but fortunately the speakers had passed far enough beyond to confuse the sound with the general blend of forest sounds, the whirring of wings in the underbrush, or the rustling in the trees overhead.
"I guess he thought I was a startled quail," Peggy said, "though I wouldn't have cared much if he had found me. I never heard such silliness, did you?"
"I didn't think it was silliness," Elizabeth said. "It was quite a lot the way people talk in books, you know."
"It wasn't really mushy," Peggy agreed, "only sort of peculiar. Well, I guess I am not going to have a new brother-in-law right away. Still, I notice she's keeping a string tied to him, just the same."