“Don’t tell fibs,” said the deformed girl, throwing her arms lovingly about her companion. “You couldn’t hate anybody, you dear old pet; and why shouldn’t you have a true, handsome lover?”
“Oh, Mary, you are insufferable. You think of nothing else but lovers.”
“Well, why not, Claudie?” said the girl with a sigh, and a peculiarly pinched look coming about her mouth, as her clear, white forehead wrinkled up, and her fine eyes seemed full of trouble. “One always longs for the unattainable. Nobody will ever love me, so why shouldn’t I enjoy seeing somebody love you?”
“Mary, darling, I love you dearly.”
“Yes, pet, like the dearest, sweetest old sister that ever was. You worship poor old humpty dumpty?”
“Don’t ridicule yourself. Mary dear.”
“Why not? But I meant no nice, handsome Christopher Lisle will ever want to look in my eyes and say—”
“Will you be quiet, Mary? Why will you be always bringing up Mr Christopher Lisle? I never tease you about Mr Gullick.”
“Because—because—because—” She did not finish her speech, but burst out into a loud, ringing laugh, full of teasing, malicious mirth, till she saw Claude’s flushed face, and then she stopped short.
“There, I’ve done. Which way shall we go?”