“I’m at work on it,” she answered. “Wait a bit till I’ve finished the dozen.”
She glanced at me now and again without pausing in her work.
“You’re from the country, aren’t you?”
“Yes. How do you know?”
“A little bird told me. What gave you those red cheeks?”
“The sight of you,” I said. I was growing up.
“I’m nothing to be ashamed of, am I?” she asked, with a pert laugh.
“You ought to be of yourself,” I said, “for taking my heart by storm in that fashion.”
“Go along!” she cried, with a jerk of her elbow. “None of your gammon! I’m not to be caught by chaff.”
“It wasn’t chaff, Dolly, though I may be a man of straw. Is that what you meant?”