"I don't want you to beg my pardon," I replied, looking a little indignantly at his sister.
"I think if he were to beat you, you would enjoy it," was her short answer.
His meal was over; he had removed from the table to the sofa; but he had not put me away. Miss O'Reilly looked at us from her place, and evidently could not make it out.
"Are there to be no lessons?" she asked at length.
"No, this is a holiday."
"Shall there be no singing?"
"I am tired."
He was not too tired to talk to me, and make me talk, to an extent that induced Miss O'Reilly to exclaim—
"I thought the child was a mouse, and she turns out to be a magpie."
She spoke shortly, but he kept me still.