“Behind a hedge,” I corrected, as pleasantly as possible.
But this did not appear to mollify her.
“You think every woman you meet is in love with you, I suppose,” she sneered. “Well, you may be interested to know that we all think you simply a ridiculous little Frenchman.”
“Little!” I exclaimed, justly incensed at this unprovoked and untrue attack. “What do you then call my friend?”
For Lumme was considerably smaller than I, and might indeed have been termed short.
“He knows what I think of him,” she answered; and with this ambiguous remark (accompanied by an equally ambiguous flash of her brown eyes at Teddy), she turned scornfully and hurried to the house.
For a moment we stood silent, looking somewhat foolishly at each other.