"Snubbed me!" reddening self-consciously, and drawing himself up as if he did not much relish the application of the word. "I do not often give any one the chance of doing that twice!"
"You are not going to be offended again, I suppose," say I, apprehensively; "it must be with Sir Roger this time, if you are! it was he that was sorry for you, not I."
We look at each other under my green sun-shade (his eyes are hazel, by daylight), and then we both burst into a duet of foolish friendly laughter.
"I want you to give me your advice," say I, as we toddle amicably along, side by side. "What would be a nice present for a gentleman—an elderly gentleman—at least rather elderly, who has a spectacle-case, a pocket-book, an inkstand, six Church services, and who does not smoke."
"But he does smoke," says Mr. Musgrave, correcting me. "I saw him the other day."
"Saw whom? What—do you mean?"
"Are not you talking of Sir Roger?" he asks, with an accent of surprise.
"Sir Roger!" (indignantly). "No, indeed! do you think he wants spectacles? No! I was talking of my father."
"Your father? You are not, like me, a poor misguided orphan, then; you have a father."
"I should think I had," reply I, expressively.