“Liz,” said Mr. Cootes at length.
“Is it or is it not,” demanded Miss Peavey, “a ball of fire?”
“Liz,” said Mr. Cootes, and his voice was husky with such awe as some young officer of Napoleon’s staff might have felt on hearing the details of the latest plan of campaign, “Liz, I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. When it comes to the smooth stuff, old girl, you’re the oyster’s eye-tooth!”
And, reaching out an arm from the recesses of the yew, he took Miss Peavey’s hand in his and gave it a tender squeeze. A dreamy look came into the poetess’s fine eyes, and she giggled a little. Dumb-bell though he was, she loved this man.
§ 2
“Mr. Baxter!”
“Yes, Miss Halliday?”
The Brains of Blandings looked abstractedly up from his desk. It was only some half-hour since luncheon had finished, but already he was in the library surrounded by large books like a sea-beast among rocks. Most of his time was spent in the library when the castle was full of guests, for his lofty mind was ill-attuned to the frivolous babblings of Society butterflies.
“I wonder if you could spare me this afternoon?” said Eve.
Baxter directed the glare of his spectacles upon her inquisitorially.