Bertie grew tired of the game before the elder boys, who were stronger than he; and then he came and stood by Queenie, who looked, as he thought, rather dull. Queenie did not look at him or speak to him; but Bertie was very straightforward and simple-minded, and did not in the least know that he was in the little lady’s black books.
“Why don’t you play too?” he asked.
“Why should I?”
“I thought you liked playing. You said yesterday you were always wishing you had some boys to play with.”
Queenie’s chin went up into the air.
“Some boys,” she answered, grandly. “I did not say any boys.”
Bertie was a little puzzled by this rather fine distinction.
“Are we any boys?” he asked.
“Rather like it, I think,” answered Queenie, a little put out by Bertie’s simplicity.
“You wanted to play with me yesterday,” remarked Bertie. “I suppose you are rather changeable, aren’t you?”