"One moment, Lisbeth; that boy is a growing boy----"
"And shall go to bed without any tea!" she broke in.
"Very well, then," I said, and reading the purpose in my eyes, she attempted, quite vainly, to turn her head aside.
"You will find it quite useless to struggle, Lisbeth," I warned. "Your only course is to remember that he is a growing boy."
"And you are a brute!" she cried.
"Undoubtedly," I answered, bending my head nearer her petulant lips. "But think of the Imp in bed, lying there, sleepless, tealess, and growing all the while as fast as he can."
Lisbeth surrendered, of course, but my triumph was greatly tempered with disappointment.
"You will then forgive him for the 'ambushes' and cherish him with much tea?" I stipulated, winking away a tress of hair that tickled most provokingly.
"Yes," said Lisbeth.
"And no bed until the usual hour?"