I glanced fearfully at our schoolroom window, lest I should be discovered in so unmanly a posture. It seemed that we were quite alone and unobserved.
A drowsy pleasure stole over my senses. The humming of the bees in the Canterbury Bells became a chant as of sirens. Dorothea's silly pink feet dangled in the pool. Surreptitiously I slipped my hand under water and felt them. They were getting spongy and seemed likely to come off. Truly there were compensations for such slavery.
My companion returned and sat down with her slim body close to mine.
"What is your name?" she cooed.
"John."
"Oh. Mine is Jane. You may call me Jenny. I'm visiting Aunt Margery. The Bishop is my great-uncle. What are your brothers' names?"
"Angel and The Seraph. They don't like girls." Instantly I wondered why I had said that. Did I like girls? Not much. But I didn't want Angel interfering in this. He had better keep away.
"My father is a judge. He sends bad men to prison."
"My father"—I was very proud of him—"is a civil engineer. He's in South America building a railroad, so that's why we live with Mrs. Handsomebody. But some day he's coming back to make a home for us. When I grow up I shall be an engineer too, and build bridges over canyons."
"What's canyons? Hold Dorothea tighter."