"I say, sweetheart," I said as soon as we were out of earshot of the house, "I wouldn't use strong language before Annabel, if I were you. She doesn't understand it, and it gives her false ideas of you."
Fay's scarlet lips pouted. "It wasn't strong language. Frank told you it wasn't."
It always annoyed me when Fay quoted Frank, and especially when she did so in order to confute me. "I know, my darling; but Annabel thought it was."
"I can't help Annabel's thoughts. She thought you were old!"
I laughed, and patted the soft, white cheek so near to my own as we sat down side by side on a garden-seat. "No, she didn't, little one."
"Well, anyway she said so."
"No, she didn't. She said I was forty-three—which I am, and forty-three seems quite young to Annabel, though old to you."
Fay still looked angry. "Indeed it doesn't. It seems quite young to me. And whatever it seems, I don't see the good of harping on it and rubbing it in, as Annabel is always doing. If she says 'forty-three' again, I shall say 'twopenny dam.'"
I laughed outright. Fay was so delicious when she was annoyed, like a brilliant little bird with ruffled plumage. Then I said softly, as I put my arms round her slender waist: "No you won't, sweetheart, you'll never say it again, if it vexes Annabel. I want you and Annabel to love each other more than I want anything in the world."
"More than you want you and me to love each other?"