"I like it most awfully. Of course I don't mean as much as brook-jumping, but almost as much."
And Mr. Ponsonby said, "Well—I must say—of all—you are—by Gum!"
He made it sound like the most delicious praise.
Mr. Ponsonby was taller and older than Mark. He was nineteen. She thought he was the nicest looking person she had ever seen.
His face was the colour of thick white honey; his hair was very dark, and he had long blue eyes and long black eyebrows like bars, drawn close down on to the blue. His nose would have been hooky if it hadn't been so straight, and his mouth was quiet and serious. When he talked to you his mouth and eyes looked as if they liked it.
Mark came and said, "Minky, if you stodge like that you'll get all flabby."
It wasn't nice of Mark to say that before Mr. Ponsonby, when he knew perfectly well that she could jump her own height.
"Me flabby? Feel my muscle."
It rose up hard under her soft skin.
"Feel it, Mr. Ponsonby."