“Would it? Why, of course it would. You see I should feel more like those chaps used, in the good old times, you know, when they used to bring the wreaths and prizes they had won, and lay ’em at ladies’ feet, only that was confoundedly silly, of course. I don’t believe in that romantic sort of work.”
“Oh, but that was at the feet of their lady-loves,” said Lucy, quickly.
“Never mind about that,” replied Rolph; “must have someone to talk to about my engagements. It’s half the fun.”
“Go and talk to Glynne, then,” said Lucy.
“That’s no use, I tell you. She doesn’t care a sou for the best bit of time made in anything. Here, I believe,” he said, warmly, “if that what’s-his-name chap, who said he’d put a girdle round the globe in less than no time, had done it, and come back to Glynne and told her so, she’d just lift up her eyes—”
“Her beautiful eyes,” said Lucy, interrupting.
“Oh, yes, she’s got nice eyes enough,” said Rolph, sulkily; “but she’d only have raised ’em for a moment and looked at him, and said—‘Have you really.’ Here, I say, Puck’s the chap I mean.”
“I don’t think Glynne’s very fond of athletic sports,” said Lucy.
“No, but you are; I know you are. Come, it’s of no use to deny it. I say I am glad.”
“Why, the monster’s going to make love to me,” said Lucy to herself.