The saucy, wide-open eyes sparkled.
“I forgive you,” she said. “How old are you?”
“Fourteen. And you?”
“Twelve.”
He was surprised. “I thought you were younger,” he said.
“So does everybody. You see, I’m tiny, and mamma dresses me in this baby way. I don’t mind. I know your name. You haven’t asked me mine.”
“Tell me,” he said with a smile.
“Angèle. Angèle Saumarez.”
“I’ll never be able to say that,” he protested.
“Oh, yes, you will. It’s quite easy. It sounds Frenchy, but I am English, except in my ways, mother says. Now try. Say ‘An’——”