“What apple?”
“Oh, Lum, his education! Paris’s apple—Can’t you see we’ve come to be chosen?”
“Oh, well—I haven’t got any apple—I’ve eaten mine.”
“Isn’t he flat—he’s like boiling magnesia that’s done boiling for a week. Are you going to take us all to church then?”
“If you like.”
“Come on, then. Where’s the Abode of Love? Look at Lettie looking shocked. Awfully sorry, old girl—thought love agreed with you.”
“Did you say love?” inquired George.
“Yes, I did; didn’t I, Meg? And you say ‘Love’ as well, don’t you?”
“I don’t know what it is,” laughed Meg, who was very red and rather bewildered.
“‘Amor est titillatio’—‘Love is a tickling,’—there—that’s it, isn’t it, Sybil?”