“I’m afraid you don’t appreciate the great honor the lady did you, in condescending to view the treasures of Clarendon, and to talk about them afterward. To hear her, she is the most intimate friend you have in Hampton.”
“Good!” he said, “I’m glad you told me. Somehow, I’m always drawing lemons.”
“Am I a lemon?” she asked, abruptly.
“You! do you think you are?”
“One can never know.”
“Have I drawn you?” he inquired.
“Quite immaterial to the question, which is: A lemon or not a lemon?”
“If you could but see yourself at this moment, you would not ask,” he said, looking at her with amused scrutiny.
The lovely face, the blue black hair, the fine figure in the simple pink organdie, the slender ankles, the well-shod feet—a lemon!
“But as I can’t see myself, and have no mirror handy, your testimony is desired,” she insisted. “A lemon or not a lemon?”