What on earth had sheeps' eyes come into the story for?
"Sheeps' eyes?" Marjolaine asked, utterly puzzled.
"'T is n't for me to say anything," Miss Ruth continued, "but with him mooning about the house, like"—words failed her—"like I don't know what; and her moping, like a hen with the pip, it's enough to give a body the fantoddles—as my poor, dear mother used to say."
"IT'S ENOUGH TO GIVE A BODY THE FANTODDLES, AS MY POOR DEAR MOTHER USED TO SAY"
Marjolaine suddenly saw light. Here, under her very eyes, was another romance, like her own—only, of course, on an infinitely lower plane, because it held no thread of tragedy—and she had been blind to it. This was lovely! But she must make sure. She turned to Miss Ruth and asked eagerly—"Are they—are they fond of each other?"
Ruth quite unnecessarily bit off another cotton-end. "I don't know!" she cried crossly; but at once added, "Yes, of course they are!"
Marjolaine was more puzzled than ever. "Then, why don't they say so?" she asked, quite simply.
"That's what I want to know," said Miss Ruth.
Lovers who might be perfectly happy, kept apart for want of a word, thought Marjolaine. How wicked, and how silly! "You should speak to Mr. Basil," she said, with all the gravity of her nineteen years and of her bitter experience.