Oh, but how cunning of him, thinks the looker-on. Never was such a sly one. Anyone else would just have asked straight out where she slept. And then of course the girl would have been offended at once. But this young man—he says never a word of anything but flowers.
"In the parlour?" he asks, with a laugh.
"No!"
"Up in the loft, then?"
"No, nor there."
"Then it's the little room at the back."
"No, no!" cries the girl, all confused. "Not there, indeed it's not."
The young man laughs. "I can't guess any more. But it's cruel of you not to tell."
And there again, mark the slyness of him, thinks the girl looking on. Anyone else would have laughed out loud and said, "Now, I know!" and the girl would have blushed.
"Well, we're friends now, real friends, aren't we?" says he, after a while.