“Well, I want her, that’s the truth. I’ve taken a fancy to her; she’s not the sort of thing one picks every day—she and her thunder-cats and dragons.”
“I won’t say she is not an attractif wee boddie,” said Mac, “but think of the future, mon, when she’s graun up.”
“Bother the future! I’m rich enough to see after her. D’y know, Mac—”
“Weel?”
“I wonder did she come out of those azaleas?”
Mac gave a grunt.
Curiously enough, his point of view had changed, and he was now convinced, or pretended to be convinced, that the treasure trove was a solid body and no bogle.
“Because,” went on Leslie, “it may be fact or fancy, but when I picked her up she seemed slipping away into thin air till I kissed her, and then she became solid.”
“Imphim,” said Mac, using a variation of the sound that was simply stuffed with meanings all uncomplimentary to Leslie’s intelligence.
“They used to tell me when I was a kid that babies came out of parsley beds. Well, I’m half inclined to believe the tale has come true at last, and she came out of those azalea bushes. Of course,” said Leslie suddenly, and as if apologizing to his own common sense, “I don’t really believe it, but I like to fancy it; it’s so much nicer than thinking she came into the world the other way.”