“Signorina, don't you try to be satirical!” said the sprightly youth; “you'll only make a mess of it. What is the use dropping one drop of vinegar into such a great big honey pot?”
“You are a saucy boy,” retorted Lucy, in tones of gentle approbation.
A long silence.
“Arthur, will you hold this skein for me?”
Arthur groaned.
“Never mind, dear. I will try and manage with a chair.”
“No you won't, now; there.”
The victim was caught by the hands. But with fatal instinctive perverseness he sat in silent amazement watching Lucy's supple white hand disentangling impossibilities instead of chattering as he was intended to. Lucy gave a little sigh. Here was a dreadful business—obliged to elicit the information she had resolved should be forced upon her.
“By the by, Arthur,” said she, carelessly, “did Mr. Dodd say anything to you on the lawn?”
“What about?”