Bill sat himself down, and set the chair creaking as he turned it about facing her. He held out his hands.
“I haven’t seen the manicuring racket right, yet,” he laughed.
Helen stretched out her two hands toward him for inspection. He promptly seized them in his, and pretended to examine them.
“The prettiest, softest, jolliest——”
But the girl snatched them away.
“That’s not inspection. That’s——”
“Sure it’s not,” retorted Bill easily. “It’s true.”
“And absurd.”
“What—the truth?”
Bill’s blue eyes were widely inquiring.