Vain preparation! It is plain that the fates are against her to-day. She is no sooner seated, with her book of poetry open on her knee, than a little flying form turns the corner and Tommy precipitates himself upon her.
"What are you doing?" asks he.
CHAPTER LIX.
"Lips are so like flowers I might snatch at those Redder than the rose leaves, Sweeter than the rose."
"Love is a great master."
"I am reading," says she. "Can't you see that?"
"Read to me, then," says Tommy, scrambling up on the bench beside her and snuggling himself under her arm. "I love to hear people."
"Well, not this, at all events," says Miss Kavanagh, placing the dainty copy of "The Muses of Mayfair," she has been reading on the rustic table in front of her.