“Yes,” he said, smiling, “I was admiring them. They are beautiful; just like your eyes.”
“For shame! Mr Trethick; what nonsense!”
“No,” he said, “it’s a fact, and you’ve got the downiest of cheeks, and the reddest of lips that pout up at one as if asking to be kissed; and really, Madge, if they ask like that I shall be obliged to kiss them.”
“I’d never forgive you if you did,” said Madge, with a look that bade him go on.
“Well, I’m afraid I must chance the forgiveness,” he said, merrily. “It’s a great risk, but you may be merciful,” and he playfully caught her in his arms and kissed her, Madge making a pretence at resistance as she triumphantly told herself that she knew she could pique him and master his coldness.
“Oh! Mr Trethick!” she exclaimed.
“Madge! Here, I say, Madge!” cried the old man, whose door was heard to open sharply.
“Yes, uncle,” cried the girl, reddening.
“Oh, you’re there, are you,” he said, stumping across the little passage. “What are you doing there, madam?”
“Defending your curried lobster, most bravely, old gentleman,” said Geoffrey, coming to the rescue, but asking himself how he could have been such an ass, and whether he had not caught the complaint so prevalent in Carnac.