The girl laughed; she seemed to laugh at everything.
“Phyllis.”
Could he say: “Is my only joy”? Better keep it! But-for what? He wouldn't see her again if he didn't look out! And he said:
“I live at the last house in the park-the red one. D'you know it? Where do you?”
“Oh! a long way—23, Millicent Villas. It's a poky little house. I hate it. We have awful larks, though.”
“Who are we?”
“Mother, and myself, and Jock—he's an awful boy. You can't conceive what an awful boy he is. He's got nearly red hair; I think he'll be just like Guardy when he gets old. He's awful!”
Bob Pillin murmured:
“I should like to see him.”
“Would you? I'll ask mother if you can. You won't want to again; he goes off all the time like a squib.” She threw back her head, and again Bob Pillin felt a little giddy. He collected himself, and drawled: