“Bell-Bell,” murmured the happy and dishevelled Quaker lady to the sleepy lady of the house of Jarn, “I’m sorry. Forgive me. It was more than a minute—wasn’t it?”
“I think it was an hour,” snapped Bell-Bell, with pretended savagery.
“Bib—but thee did not call,” half sobbed the happy one, “and—and I—forgot!”
“God bless you both!” shouted the little wife, and in a moment had the dishevelled head with the damp tendrils of hair on her breast. “I am almost as happy as you.”
“Why?” questioned the Quaker lady.
“Why—didn’t he ask you to marry him?”
“No. I don’t think he would wish to marry a Quaker—especially one as wicked as I am.”
She could hear the fine teeth of Bell-Bell grind.
“Isn’t it funny that one can be so very wicked and so very happy at the same time?”
“No. Go to sleep. I must think.”