“She pretends she doesn’t, but she does. You stare at her, and act stupid.”
“Is Jack stupid?”
“When he’s at our house,” said Mark. “He’s as stupid as an owl. Now she kisses you, and you just whisper and squeeze her hand, and say it’s very tiny. You don’t know how conceited she is about her hand—can’t you see—she’s always got it somewhere where you can see it; and she sticks her foot out so,” (Mark put one foot out); “and don’t you move an inch, but stick close to her, and get her into a corner or in the arbour. Mind, though, if you don’t keep on telling her how pretty she is, she’ll box your ears. That’s why she hates me—”
“Because you don’t tell her she’s pretty. But she is pretty.”
“But I’m not going to be always telling her so—I don’t see that she’s anything very beautiful either—you and I should look nice if we were all the afternoon doing our hair, and if we walked like that and stuck our noses up in the air; and kept grinning, and smacked ourselves with powder, and scent, and all such beastly stuff. Now Jack’s rifle—”
“We could make it shoot,” said Bevis, “if we had it all to ourselves, and put bullets through apples stuck up on a stick, or smash an egg—”
“And knock over the parrots up in these trees.”
“I will have a gun,” said Bevis, kicking a stone with all his might. “Are you sure Frances could get Jack—”
“Frances get Jack to do it! Why, I’ve seen him kiss her foot.”
They got on board laughing and set the sails, but as the island kept the wind off, Mark had to row till they were beyond the cliff. Then the sails filled and away they went.