“You do such a lot of things so nicely,” she went on, “but you never do anything with them. I’m sure you could write a beautiful fairy-story just like ‘Alice through the Looking-Glass.’”
“You mean ‘In Wonderland,’ I suppose?” said Hugh.
“I dare say. Or you could win punting races.”
Hugh removed his tongue from his cheek merely because he wanted it for the purposes of speech. Figuratively, it was there still.
“I am writing a volume of fairy-tales—several, in fact,” he said; “and I am going in for the punting championship of Northern Europe.”
“Oh, how can you tell such stories?” said Peggy.
“Easily. There’s not the slightest difficulty about it. You had better put down your parasol a moment. I am going to tie up underneath those trees.”
“Oh, but we’ve hardly gone a hundred yards!” said she.
“No; but it is clearly your purpose to argue with me. I can’t argue while I’m punting. If you like, we will drift down mid-stream, but there are a good many excursion steamers about.”
They tied up accordingly just below Odney Weir, and since Peggy intended to begin arguing at once, it did not seem worth while to disclaim the intention of doing so.