"Look!" cried Marjolaine, "the Eyesore's caught another fish!"
"Poor darling!" exclaimed Barbara.
Marjolaine gave her a horrified look. "You are not in love with the Eyesore, too!"
"I meant the fish!" explained Barbara, "to be drawn out of the watery element."
"Ah," said Marjolaine, wisely, "that comes of a fondness for worms."
"Worms!" repeated Barbara, lugubriously. "Ah, worms!—I shall let the worm i' the bud feed on my damaged cheek."
The two were now sitting on the bench under the elm, and twittering together like little love-birds. The Eyesore came nearer.
"Barbara," said Marjolaine, with meaning, "suppose Mr. Basil's cheek is being fed on, too?"
"Dearest, that is impossible," said Barbara.
Marjolaine sat nearer and spoke more confidentially. "Suppose I know it is?"