"He never saw under the bonnet," and she whisked the pig-tail forward over her shoulder. "Look at that," she said.
"How did you make it that common brown?" he asked, astonished.
"Mother Brundage," said Amaryllis, "greased her hands from the frying-pan and rubbed it down hand over hand as if she were hoisting a sail. The Marquis of Ontario," she said, "would know I wasn't his daughter, with that-coloured hair."
"Then why did you go all to pieces," asked Dick, "at the sound of Melchard's voice?"
"It was that frightful man made me feel queer. Just as I was getting better, I heard Melchard, and I thought the best place for my aristocratic nose was on my daddy's shoulder. Dick!" she cried, looking up at his solemn face, "I really couldn't help feeling bad."
"Most girls 'd've fainted. You're clever as paint," he said, "you turn your two-spots into aces, and leave him in baulk every time. Poor, shaking kid! And I'd brandy in my pocket, and couldn't give it to you!" He pulled out his flask. "Have some—you'd better."
Amaryllis with a little tender wrinkle somewhere in her beauty, laughed in his face.
"Do I look," she asked, "as if I needed Dutch courage?"
Colour of skin and splendour of eye answered their own question.
"You look top-hole," he said. "But you've had a heavy call on your strength."