He whistled a bar of "Widow Macree."
"Oh, Denis!" She was holding up a lovely bunch of lilies of the valley to her cheek.
He turned with sudden irritation.
"Don't start about it's being extravagant! It isn't! If you say a word, I'll chuck 'em in the dust-bin!"
She smiled demurely. The flowers had been behind the water-jug, with a suspicious air of having been hidden there.
"They're lovely," she said, tucking them into her soft folded belt. "I must pin them in. Are you coming, twin?"
"If it weren't for taking you two, I wouldn't come at all."
"Oh, yes, you would."
"What's the good? I haven't a ghost of a chance—"
"If you knew you were bound to make the worst speech there," her head was up, "you would go. We never funk anything, Denis!"