“No, no,” she smiled at him; “a colossus, my dear; you bestride my tiny world.”
“Now you’re humbugging me, you wicked, satirical woman. I feel very small. Call me your Mighty Atom, if you like. I say, I wish I wasn’t quite such a mug where your elusive sex is concerned.”
“Oh! Who is eluding you, Lionel?”
He answered without embarrassment:
“Joyce Hamlin. We used to be such good pals. And I like to pick up palship where I leave it. She half promised to join us by the river to-day. Is it true that women always do what they like, what pleases ’em best?”
She was too kind and too clever to laugh at him. Her tone, as she replied, became as serious and sincere as his.
“Some women, Lionel, and nearly all men, do what pleases them, or what they think, at the time, pleases them. Joyce, I can assure you, is not one of those. But whether you can pick up palship, as you call it, with her just where you left off is another matter entirely and quite outside my knowledge.”
She paused a moment, and once more her soft fingers stroked his hand. Then she continued quietly:
“Palship, between Joyce and you, may seem simple and desirable to you. To her, probably, it presents difficulties and perplexities.”
“You are fond of Joyce, mother?”