“And I’d walk right—straight—up to Julien Tenney—” Another pause, even more impressive.
“I d-d-don’t think I’d—he’d—”
“And I’d say to him: ‘Julien, will you marry me?’ Like that.”
“Oh!” said Bobbie in outraged amazement.
“And maybe—” continued the Bonnie Lassie judicially: “maybe I’d kiss him. Yes. I think I would.”
Suddenly all the bright softness of Bobbie’s large eyes dissolved in tears. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” she sobbed.
“You won’t be ashamed of yourself,” prophesied the other, “if you do just as I say, quickly and naturally.”
“Oh, naturally,” retorted the girl in an indignant whimper. “I suppose you think that’s natural. Anyway, he probably doesn’t care about me at all that way.”
“Roberta,” said the sculptress sternly, “did you see his portrait of you?”
“Y-y-yes.”