“Nothing happened,” announced Katya. “He does not want to marry me.”
“My poor child! Never mind: there were weeks and weeks when I used to think the same about your father. Men never know their own minds.”
“But Fallon shall know his,” said Katya; “I’m as clever as any man I’ve come across yet.”
“Do be careful, dear. You were careful to-night?”
“Very. He only kissed my ankle.”
“Your ankle!” exclaimed her mother, in amazement; “whatever for? Why should he want to kiss your ankle?”
“Well,” said Katya, laughing, “I’ve got rather a nice ankle, you know.”
Mrs. Kontorompa, who had no ankles at all, but merely calves terminating in feet, sighed anxiously.
“Your father never kissed my ankles,” she said, disapprovingly.
“Ask him to!” urged Katya, mischievously; “it’s a delightful feeling.”