"'Cos you interrupted, and I can't begin again." There was more than the sound of tears this time; the blue eyes were suddenly swimming in them. "And I haven't said my hymn, and you don't care a bit," she said in a voice that quivered ominously. Matters were evidently getting desperate.
"Yes, but you can say the rest," argued Noel, with the feeling that he was losing ground every instant. "What do you generally say next?"
"No, I can't. It wouldn't be sayin' them properly, and God doesn't listen if you don't say them properly."
Here was a formidable difficulty; but Noel's brain was fertile. He had a sudden inspiration. "Look here!" he said. "I'll say the first part again for you, and you can say Amen. I haven't said mine yet, you know, so it doesn't matter for me. Then you can go on and finish. Will that do?"
Peggy gave the matter her grave consideration, and decided that it would. "But you must kneel down," she said.
There was no sound in the passage now. Noel peered in that direction, but detected nothing. Patiently he slipped on to his knees, and began to recite the Lord's Prayer.
Considering the difficulties under which he laboured, he acquitted himself with considerable credit. Peggy at least was fully satisfied, a fact to which her fervent "Amen"! abundantly testified. She took up her own petitions at once quite impressively, albeit with slightly accelerated speed to make up for lost time. At the end of her hymn she paused.
"Would you like me to ask God to make me grow up quick so that we can be married soon, Noel?" she asked.
"I shouldn't." said Noel.
"Not?" The wedgewood-blue eyes opened wide.