“It is a special privilege which is any man’s due,” broke in Charlie Sommers, coming up and catching Peggy round the waist and kissing her soundly, “when a girl stands deliberately under the mistletoe.”
Mr Musgrave, who had witnessed this attack with amazement, turned away with a sense of annoyance at his brother-in-law’s bucolic humour. To kiss a woman beneath the mistletoe appeared to him as vulgar as kissing her without that flimsy excuse. He was surprised that Peggy did not show greater resentment at this treatment.
Charlie Sommers and Peggy looked at Mr Musgrave’s retreating back, and then at one another, and smiled.
“You have disgusted Mr Musgrave,” she said.
“I rather suspect him of jealousy,” he replied. “He hadn’t spunk enough or he’d have done the same himself.”
She flushed quickly.
“John would never be guilty of impertinence,” she returned.
“His sins are those of omission,” he retorted. “I think John’s an ass.”
“I think he is an eminently discreet and comfortable person,” she replied. “I should never feel afraid of mistletoe in his presence.”
“It appears to me,” he observed, eyeing the mistletoe above her head, “that you do not show particular trepidation in regard to the plant in anyone’s presence.”