“I am sorry, Paul. But if I sit here it will be lovely; if I walk, I am afraid I shall be too tired.”
“I’ll stay here, then; I am not at all keen about a tramp.”
“No, please go. And take Eve.”
“Uncly Paul, not old Eve. I want old Eve,” announced Jack, reasonably.
“You don’t seem to mind his calling you that,” said Paul, laughing.
“Why should I?” Eve answered. “I don’t care for a walk, thanks.”
“Make her go,” continued Cicely; “march her off.”
“Will you march?” asked Paul.
“Not without a drum and fife.”
Jack was now cooing without cessation, and in his most insinuating tones, “Sing to Jacky—poor, poor Jacky. Sing to Jacky—poor, poor Jacky!”