“Well, come along, and don’t be all day choosing. Here, this will do,” said Nurse, as she picked one from the penny tray.
But Michael had other ideas. He had noticed an exquisite Valentine of apple-green satin painted with the rosiest of Cupids, the most crimson of pierced hearts, a Valentine that was almost a sachet so thick was it, so daintily fringed with fretted silver-paper.
“That one,” he declared, pointing.
“Now what have I told you about pointing?”
“That large one’s a shilling,” said the stationer.
“Come along, come along,” grumbled Nurse. “Wasting good money.”
“But I want to have that one,” said Michael.
For the first time in his life he did not feel at all afraid of Nurse, so absolutely determined was he to present Miss Carthew with the Valentine of his own free choice.
“I will have that one,” he added. “It’s my money.”
“You will, will you, you naughty boy? You won’t, then. So now! You dare defy me. I never heard of such a thing. No, nothing more this morning, thank you,” Nurse added, turning to the stationer. “The little boy has got all he wants. Say ‘thank you’ to the gentleman and ‘good morning,’” Nurse commanded Michael.