“She’s not, love. She’s too stout to live.”
“She’s not a bit too stout,” said little Piers.
“Why do you say that, dear? You don’t know her, do you?”
“I won’t say whether I know her or not,” returned the boy firmly, “but she’s not too stout. She’s a darling. I love her.”
“What’s the matter with you, Piers?”
“I don’t like that story. It reminds me of——”
“Of what, love?”
“My secret. Please don’t tell me any more, grannie.”
“I won’t if it frets you, dear heart. Go and put on your things, and we’ll both have our breakfast. You must be very hungry.”
“No, I seem to lose hunger when you talk about the house, and the housekeeper, and the brown eyes of that beautiful, most beautiful girl.”