“Donʼt call Amy. I donʼt want her.”
“Oh, I beg your pardon, Iʼm sure I rather thought you did.”
“Eoa,” said Bob; and she looked at him, and the tears were in her eyes. And then she whispered, “Yes, Bob.”
“You have got on the very prettiest dress I ever saw in all my life.”
Here Bob was alarmed at his own audacity, and durst not watch the effect of his speech.
“Oh, is that all?” she answered. “But I am very glad indeed that you like—my frock, Bob.” Here she looked down at it, with much interest.
“And, to tell you the truth,” continued he, “I think, if you will please not to be offended, that you look very well in it.”
“Oh yes, I am very well. I wish I was ill, sometimes.”
“Now, I donʼt mean that. What I mean is, very nice.”
“Well, I always try to be nice. But how can I, out butterfly–hunting?”