Harold accepted the proposal, and remarked:
“What is the matter with your niece? It is the first time I ever saw her quiet.”
“Yes; she is a noisy little article—a perfect whirlwind in the house—but she is a little tired this afternoon; she has been seeing those sheep through today.”
“Don’t you think it would be a good lark if I get something and tickle her?” said Goodchum.
“Yes, do,” said Harold; “but look out for squalls. She is a great little fizzer.”
“Then she might be insulted.”
“Not she,” interposed auntie. “No one will enjoy the fun more than herself.”
I had my eyes half open beneath the net, so saw him cautiously approach with a rose-stem between his fingers. Being extremely sensitive to tickling, so soon as touched under the ear I took a flying leap from the chair somewhat disconcerting my tormentor.
He was a pleasant-looking young fellow somewhere about twenty, whose face was quite familiar to me.
He smiled so good-humouredly at me that I widely did the same in return, and he came forward with extended hand, exclaiming, “At last!”