"L-look in the glass!"
He looked and grinned.
"''Twas a grim and gory sight,'" he quoted. "'It hath a manly look which pleases me.'"
"A baby look, you mean. Babies always smear their cheeks with jam."
He was engaged in twisting his tongue out and round in a vain endeavour to catch the smear of jam.
"Nell," advancing his cheek, "lick it off for a chap. Pity to waste it."
She boxed his ear.
"Now I won't buy you a box of Fuller's chocolates!"
She sobered. She was discovering, to her amazement, that money, even when never spent in larger sums than a few shillings or even sixpences, had a mysterious and alarming way of dwindling.
"No more sweets, Denis!"