Bella? You should smell the jasmine and the oleanders of New Orleans. These are nothing but weeds."
"How can you say so?" she exclaimed; "besides, most of the things I want to do are wicked, anyhow."
"Jove!" exclaimed Fairfax. "That is a confession."
She corrected. "You ought not to say 'Jove' like that, Cousin Antony. You can cut it and make it sound like 'Jovah,' it sounds just like it."
"What wicked things do you want to do, Bella?"
She pointed to the merry-go-rounds, where the giraffes, elephants, and horses raced madly round to the plaintive tune of "Annie Laurie," ground out by a hurdy-gurdy.
"I'd love to go on."
Fairfax put his hand in his pocket, but she pulled it back.
"No, Cousin Antony, please. It's not the money that keeps me back, though I haven't any. It's Sunday, you know."
"Oh," her cousin accepted dismally.