CHAPTER X
A Letter from Calcutta.
Paddy sat on the morning-room table swinging her feet, and Jack leaned against the mantelpiece with his hands in his pockets, biting at the end of an empty pipe fitfully, as was his wont when all did not fall out as he wished.
“There was a little girl
And she had a little curl
Right in the middle of her forehead,”
sang Paddy.
“And when she was good
She was very, very good;
And when she was naughty, she was ’orrid.”
“Are you going to save me the supper-dance, Paddy!” he asked, without moving.
Paddy put her head on one side like a little bird, and eyed him quizzically a moment in silence.
“How many people have you already asked!” she said suddenly.
He coloured a little under his sunburn.
“Why should you suppose I have asked anyone!”