“Right out—right out,” said Shan’t, and she looked so like crying over the departure of the crab seawards that he made for the spot where it had been, and, of course (so hard on uncles this sort of thing!) there was a crab, “in the very same place”—so Shan’t said—“and,” she added, “it was a darlin’ and it looked so pleased to see me—it smiled!”
This kind of thing, too, it was that distressed Marcus. Ought he, as uncle, to tell her that crabs did not smile, or should he leave it alone. “It’s a darlin’,” she repeated. She stood looking at him in grave displeasure—looked at him under her eyelashes. He had lied. The sea had not taken her darlin’ crab away. She knew it hadn’t. The sea had been falsely accused. Shan’t was ever on the side of the injured. The mother and daughter came along and found Marcus standing thus being judged of Shan’t, and this time they both smiled.
“What a darling!” said the younger of the two women, and Shan’t turned and frowned at her. “Aren’t you?” asked the girl.
“No,” said Shan’t.
“What’s your name?”
“Shan’t-if-I-don’t-want-to.”
“Oh, don’t, please, if you don’t want to.”
“It’s that,” said Shan’t.
“What?”
“Shan’t-if-I-don’t—want—to.”