'Yes. I suppose that's easier than to learn to spell?'
'Oh, much! You see, it's in this with me like everything else. Once I make up my mind to a thing I can't alter it. And it seems I generally make up my mind wrong in the spelling line. But I say, Stella, do you remember that birthday I got a little sparrow without many feathers on it in your Moreton fig-tree? Oh, I can see you do. I asked you to give me a kiss for it, but you wouldn't. When will you?'
'Have you bribed many girls since then to kiss you, Ted?'
A dull red mounted into Ritchie's face.
'That isn't the question—stick to the point in hand, Stella, and tell me.'
'Well, perhaps never. Indeed, most likely never.'
'I don't believe that. Count it on your left hand as we used to do with the cherry-stones. Begin with the thumb, saying, "Shall I ever give Ted a kiss?—yes—no": go on.'
'Shall—I—ever—give—Ted—a—kiss? Yes—no—yes—no!'
'No, no, no; that's not fair, Stella. You must stop with the little finger, and the dear little finger says yes. I shall get a diamond hoop for that little finger. Now, then, ask it when this is to come off: say spring—summer—autumn—winter. Spring, hurrah! exactly when I thought.'
'This is a charming horse of yours, Ted.'