"I—I promise! I apologize! You—you shall have the shilling!" gasped the girl, half angrily, half haughtily.
He rose in a leisurely fashion, got back to his window seat, and held out his long, shapely hand.
She shook herself, put up one hand to her hair, and took a shilling from her pocket with the other.
"Tiresome boy!" she exclaimed. "If I live to be a hundred, I shall never know why boys were invented."
"There are lots of other things, simpler things, that you will never know, though you live to be a Methuselah, my dear Nell," he said; "one of them being that twenty-seven and eight do not make thirty-nine."
"Thirty-nine? Why, of course not; thirty-five!" she retorted. "That's where I was wrong. Dick, you are a beast. There's the book, Molly, and there's the money——Oh, give me back that shilling, Dick; I want it! I've only just got enough. Give it me back at once; you shall have it again, I swear—I mean, I promise."
"Simple child!" he murmured sweetly. "So young, so simple! She really thinks I shall give it to her! Such innocence is indeed touching! Excuse these tears. It will soon pass!"
He mopped his eyes with his handkerchief, as if overcome by emotion, and the exasperated Nell looked at him as if she meant another fight; but she resisted the temptation, and, with a shrug of her shoulders, pushed the book and money toward the patient and unmoved Molly.
"There you are, Molly, all but the shilling. Tell him to add that to the next account."
"Yes, miss. And the missis' chocklut; it's just the time?"