“But, look here,” said Jimmy, “all this isn’t worth making a fuss for; you get cross about nothing at all; when you came, you were all smiles; and now ...”
“That’s because,” Lily began, with a sly laugh—oh, she was exasperated with Jimmy’s coldness! She’d show him, the icicle, and have a bit of fun with him—“on my way here, Jimmy, I met ... now you won’t give me away, Jimmy? ... I met my ... sweetheart.”
“A sweetheart? You? Lily?”
“Yes, yes, yes,” said Lily, nodding her head and looking at him archly, for she could see, by Jimmy’s expression, that he was caught.
“And your father and mother know nothing about it?” insisted Jimmy, nonplussed.
“No, no; it doesn’t concern them: at my age, a girl earns a living for her Pa and Ma; I have as much right to a sweetheart as any one else, I suppose.”
And, greatly amused, she fixed Jimmy with her mocking eyes.
Jimmy stared at her in amazement.
Then she understood that it was not a thing to joke about and that what she had just said was terrible. And, suddenly:
“No, it’s not true, Jimmy! I was only laughing! Oh, Jimmy, you’re going to give me away!” cried Lily, squeezing Jimmy’s arm with a convulsive little hand. “Oh, Jimmy, don’t tell Ma, please, please, Jimmy!”