Suddenly he felt her light little hand on his face. She was standing close by the hammock. He was still very angry and sulky with her. He closed his eyes and frowned. He knew just how she was looking; knew if he glanced at her he would relent ignominiously. She pried his eyes gently open with her fingers, and then kissed them, as softly as a tiny bird might have done. Gradually she crawled into the hammock with him, regardless of non-assistance.

“Augustness,” she said, her arms about his neck now, though she was sitting up and leaning over him. “Listen ad me.”

“I’m listening.”

“Look ad me.”

He looked, frowned, smiled, and then kissed her. She laughed under her breath, such a queer, triumphant, mocking small laugh. It made him frown again, but she kissed the frown into a smile once more. Then she sat up.

“Pray excuse me. I wan’ sit ad your feet and talk ad you.”

“Can’t you talk here?” he demanded, jealously.

“Nod so well. I gittin’ dazzled. Permit me,” she coaxed. He released her grudgingly. She sat close to him on the floor. She sighed heavily, hypocritically.

“What is it now?”

“Well, you know I telling you about those moneys.”