“It's wife, Kate. No, it's widow. No, it's——”
“Do be serious. Oh, dear! it's going—yes, it's going round. Not that either. No, it has—yes, it has———oh!”
“Sunk!” said Philip, laughing and clapping his hands. “You're doomed to be an old maid, Kate. Phonodoree says so.”
“Cruel Brownie! I'm vexed that I bothered with him,” said Kate, dropping her lip. Then nodding to her reflection in the water where the willow bough had disappeared, she said, “Poor little Katey! He might have given you something else. Anything but that dear, eh?”
“What,” laughed Philip, “crying? Because Phonodoree—never!”
Kate leapt up with averted face. “What nonsense you are talking!” she said.
“There are tears in your eyes, though,” said Philip.
“No wonder, either. You're so ridiculous. And if I'm meant for an old maid, you're meant for an old bachelor—and quite right too!”
“Oh, it is, is it?”
“Yes, indeed. You've got no more heart than a mushroom, for you're all head and legs, and you're going to be just as bald some day.”