"No—but there's a beauty in the chair by the fire."
Nigel dived out of the window, and caught her up bodily. Her clothes smelt strongly of milk and garden mould, not an altogether pleasing combination. But for some reason or other he felt delighted, and carried her in triumph round the kitchen before he introduced her to a large placid-looking cat.
"Don' like it."
This was humiliating, but Nigel persevered.
"Have some of this—" and he offered her a spoonful of jam out of the pot on the table.
The little girl sniffed it with the air of a connoisseur.
"Don' like it."
"Well, try this—" plunging the same spoon into the sugar basin.
"Don' like it."
Fortunately at that moment Janey came in.