Lady Chesterfield, her cheek aglow, rose to her feet.
“This is becoming insufferable,” she began; and stopped, biting her lip.
“You’ve forgotten your sling,” said Moll.
“You’ve forgotten yourself,” said Kate disdainfully; and, with a shrug, resumed her seat. “But perhaps that is an advantage.”
Mrs. Davis jumped up, with a ringing laugh.
“What a company of crosspatches!” she cried. “The sandwich doesn’t seem to be a success. You come in the middle, Phil, and be the duck.”
He grinned, but in a half-scared way. She had never yet ventured so far as to call him by his Christian name. He was feeling suddenly rather helpless—taken off his feet by the excess of the storm he had himself invited. When she ran to him and pulled at his coat, he resisted feebly.
“Come and be the duck.” She chirped with laughter. “What a face to grin through a horse collar! O! look intelligent!” She shook him. “What shall we do—play games? Hot cockles, say, or——” she released him, and stood with deliberating finger on lip. “No, that would never do. Dumb-crambo—what do you say to that?” She glanced with comical plaintiveness from one mute figure to the other. “But you don’t look very playful, either of you. I wish Kit was here. You’d never be able to resist Kit, whatever you do me.”
Chesterfield cleared his throat, fingering the cravat at it.
“Is Kit such a wag?” said he.