“Hurrah! Did it make you feel extra-special unwell?”
“No, you ass. But it’s scuggish to smoke. Only scugs smoke at Marchester.”
Margery nodded at him approvingly.
“I always told you you would cease to think it grand when you got with nice boys,” she said.
“Oh, shut up,” said David.
Margery melted completely under this. She felt that he was only a little boy, in spite of all the wickets he had taken, and that she was a woman. Instinctively she took up the glory and burden of her sex.
“Oh, David, what’s the matter?” she said. “I am sorry you feel beastly. What is it?”
David slid off his chair, and lay down flat on the grass, staring up into the thick green leaves, chinked with blue sky. Almost immediately a ripe mulberry dropped on his nose and burst, and though it was immensely funny, Margery continued quite grave. David said “Damn,” and solemnly wiped it off. Then she sat down on the grass by him.
“What is the matter, David?” she repeated.
David blew away a fly that wished to settle on his face.