Miss Dyer avoided his glance. She stood drooping before him; she looked to one side at the floor; she looked to the other side at the floor. The toe of her little shoe poked and twisted at a knot in the floor.
“Extenuating circumstances?” she suggested hopefully.
“Name them to the court.”
“The—the moon, I guess.” The inquisitive shoe traced crosses and circles upon the knot in the flooring. “And Charlie See,” she added desperately. “Charlie has such eloquent eyes, Hobby—don’t you think?”
She raised her little curly head for a tentative peep at the court; her own eyes were shining with mischief. The court unclasped its hands.
“I ought to shake you,” declared Hobby. But he did not shake her at all.
“You’re the only young man in Garfield who wears his face clean-shaven,” remarked Lyn reflectively, a little later. “Charlie would look much better without a mustache, I think.”
He pushed her away and tipped up her chin with a gentle hand so that he could look into her eyes. “Little brown lady with curly eyes and laughing hair—are you quite fair to Charlie See?”
“No,” said Lyn contritely, “I’m not. I suppose we ought to tell him.”
“We ought to tell everybody. So far as I am concerned, I would enjoy being a sandwich man placarded in big letters: ‘Property of Miss Lyn Dyer.’”