"I do.... Because you call her 'Lois' so readily—and you came near it the first day you had apparently set eyes on her. Also, she calls you 'Euan' with a tripping lack of hesitation—even with a certain natural tenderness—"
I turned on her, exasperated:
"Come," said I, controlling my temper with difficulty, "I am tired of playing butt to your silly arrows."
"Oh, how you squirm, Euan! Cupid and I are shooting you full as a porcupine!"
"If Cupid is truly shooting," said I with malice, "you had best hunt cover, Lana. For I think already a spent shaft or two has bruised you, flying at hazard from his bow."
She smilingly ignored what I had said.
"Tell me," she persisted, "are you not at her pretty feet already? Is not your very soul down on its worthy marrow-bones before this girl?"
"Is not every gallant gentleman who comes to Croghan's at the feet of Miss de Contrecoeur?"
"One or two are in the neighbourhood of my feet," she remarked.
"Aye, and too near to please me," said I.