I shook my head, and then nodded, violently.
"You darling!" said my new Bill. "You lovely little thing. I adore you—"
"Why didn't you tell me so before?" I asked, in what was a deplorably peevish tone.
"Tell you! And get my face slapped! You were the prickliest small porcupine, for all your soft ways—rather not! But Gosh," said Bill, "it was hard—"
"You might have saved us a lot of trouble," said I reproachfully.
He got to his feet and sat on the edge of the bed.
"Might I? I didn't know, you see. I had had your repeated assurance that you regarded me as dirt under your little feet. How could I tell you?"
"You were awfully stupid!" said I, with keen satisfaction.
But he was kissing my finger-tips, protruding stiffly through the neat bandaging.
"Dear little hands!" he said. "Oh, Mavis—if anything had happened to you—"