In the middle of it I saw Clara begin to titter, but she did not interrupt him. When he had finished, she said with a grave face, too grave for seriousness:
‘Will you repeat the third line—I think it was, Mr Osborne?’
He did so.
‘What kind of eggs did the Apennine lay, Mr Osborne?’ she asked, still perfectly serious.
Charley was abashed to find she could take advantage of probably a provincialism to turn into ridicule such fine verses. Before he could recover himself, she had planted another blow’ or two.
‘And where is its nest?’ Between the earth and the sky is vague. But then to be sure it must want a good deal of room. And after all, a mountain is a strange fowl, and who knows where it might lay? Between earth and sky is quite definite enough? Besides, the bird-nesting boys might be dangerous if they knew where it was. It would be such a find for them!’
My champion was defeated. Without attempting a word in reply, he hung back and dropped behind. Mr Coningham must have heard the whole, but he offered no remark. I saw that Charley’s sensitive nature was hurt, and my heart was sore for him.
‘That’s too bad of you, Clara,’ I said.
‘What’s too bad of me, Wilfrid?’ she returned.
I hesitated a moment, then answered—