"And what may they be, pray, miss?"
"Ah, that's my secret!"
Fluff looked down; a becoming blush deepened the color in her cheeks; she toyed idly with a rosebud which she held in her hand. Something in her attitude, and the significant smile on her face, made the squire both angry and uneasy.
"Speak out, child," he said. "You know I hate mysteries."
"But I can't speak out," said Fluff. "The time to speak out hasn't come—I can only guess. Squire, I'm so glad—I really do think that Frances is in love with Philip."
"You really do?" said the squire. He mimicked her tone sarcastically, red, angry spots grew on his old cheeks. "Frances in love with Philip, indeed! You have got pretty intimate with that young Australian, Fluff, when you call him by his Christian name."
"Oh, yes; we arranged that yesterday. He's like a brother to me. I told you some time ago that he was in love with Frances. Now, I'm so delighted to be able to say that I think Frances is in love with him."
"Tut—tut!" said the squire. "Little girls imagine things. Little girls are very fanciful."
"Tut—tut!" responded Fluff, taking off his voice to the life. "Little girls see far below the surface; old men are very obtuse."
"Fluff, if that's your secret, I don't think much of it. Run away now, and send my daughter to me."