This was accompanied by an arch look.
“Oh, how sweet the flowers are!” cried Isabel, turning away to hide the heightened colour in her cheeks.
“Yes, dear,” said Laura, banteringly, “and life now is all roses and sweets, and the sky was never so blue, and the London sparrows’ ‘chiswick, chiswick’ sounds like the song of nightingales, doesn’t it? Heigho! I wish I were in love, and someone loved me, and put his arm round my waist and took me for walks along the primrose path of dalliance.”
There was a light step behind her, two arms were passed about her waist, a soft, white chin rested upon her shoulder, and a rounded cheek was pressed to hers.
“Don’t tease me, Laury darling,” was whispered. “I can’t help feeling all you say, and looking very weak and stupid now.”
“Tease you, my own sweet!” cried Laura, swinging round to embrace in turn. “No, of course I won’t. It’s only my nasty envy, hatred and malice, because I can’t be as happy as you. There—and there—and there!”
Three kisses, and Isabel started away.
“Fred’s coming!” she whispered.
“No. That’s auntie’s soft, pudgy step. Fred comes down thump, thump, like a wooden-legged man.”
“Laury!”