"Your sister predicted that I'd lose my heart and senses to you" said Hamil, laughing and reseating himself beside her.
"Have you?"
"Of course I have. Who could help it?"
The girl considered him smilingly.
"You're the nicest of men," she said. "If you hadn't been so busy I'm certain we'd have had a desperate affair. But—as it is—and it makes me perfectly furious—I have only the most ridiculously commonplace and comfortable affection for you—the sort which prompts mother to send you quinine and talcum powder—"
Balanced there side by side they fell to laughing.
"Sentiment? Yes," she said; "but oh! it's the kind that offers witch-hazel and hot-water bottles to the best beloved! Mr. Hamil, why can't we flirt comfortably like sensibly frivolous people!"
"I wish we could, Cecile."
"I wish so, too, Garret. No, that's too formal—Garry! There, that ends our chances!"
"You're the jolliest family I ever knew," he said. "You can scarcely understand how pleasant it has been for me to camp on the edges of your fireside and feel the home-warmth a little—now and then—"