"Ah, but you shouldn't believe everything you're told."
"It isn't a question of what I believe, but of what other people believe," said I. "But if you don't believe it yourself, how can you expect—"
"I never said I didn't believe it myself. Besides, I don't want to argue. I want to watch the smiles playing 'Here we go round the mulberry bush.'"
The girl broke into peals of silvery laughter. "Is my nose as bad as all that?" she said presently.
"Your nose is the nose of dainty Columbine," said I. "Dream noses, they call them. And you know that mulberry bushes don't figure in that game any more than the bells of St. Clement Danes are ever used by children playing 'Oranges and lemons.'"
"Admit it was a floater on your part, and I'll let you play a round with me."
"I—er—confess, upon consideration, that the allusion—"
"That'll do," she said, laughing.
I rose. She put out a hand, and I drew her to her feet.
"My clubs are just by that rock there. Do you think you can manage Hans Andersen?"