"I declare you think Cupid an actual person!" she said. "If he'll go, he shall. But I think he'll stay."
She loosened her hold of the dove, which, released, gravely hopped up to her shoulder and sat there pruning its wing. She glanced round at it.
"I told you so!" she said,—"He's a fixture."
"I don't mind him so much up there," said Robin, and he ventured to take one of her hands in his own,—"but he always has so much of you; he nestles under your chin and is caressed by your sweet lips,—he has all, and I have,—nothing!"
"You have one hand," said Innocent, with demure gravity.
"But no heart with it!" he said, wistfully. "Innocent, can you never love me?"
She was silent, looking at him critically,—then she gave a little sigh.
"I'm afraid not! But I have often thought about it."
"You have?"—and his eyes grew very tender.
"Oh yes, often! You see, it isn't your fault at all. You are—well!"—here she surveyed him with a whimsical air of admiration,—"you are quite a beautiful man! You have a splendid figure and a good face, and kind eyes and well-shaped feet and hands,—and I like the look of you just now with that open collar and that gleam of sunlight in your curly hair—and your throat is almost white, except for a touch of sunburn, which is RATHER becoming!—especially with that crimson silk tie! I suppose you put that tie on for effect, didn't you?"