“It’s jest a little lunch,” she said, apologetically.
“Jest t’ take the edge off;” but her cheeks flushed with pleasure at his words.
“And I’m used t’ bein’ called Jane, sir,” she added.
“And I’m not in the least used to being called sir,” retorted Dick, “and I don’t like it. My name is Dick, and this young lady’s name is Cecil, but she prefers to be called Biffkins. Don’t you think Biffkins suits her?”
Jane looked me over with a critical countenance, while Dick watched her, his eyes twinkling.
“Yes,” she answered, gravely, at last, “I think it does.”
“I knew you’d say so,” laughed Dick. “Everybody does. Now, I gave her that name, and I’m proud of it.”
Mother had been taking off her hat and listening with an amused countenance.
“You mustn’t take these two children too seriously, Jane,” she said, warningly. “And if they don’t behave themselves properly, just let me know!”
Jane smiled at both of us, but she was evidently thinking of something else, for she stood pulling a corner of her apron nervously between her fingers.