"Let me help you," said Moore politely. "No doubt, I can break the plaguey thing, Mistress Dyke."
"I can break the plaguey thing, Mistress Dyke.
"You are the cause of all the trouble," said Bessie, crossly.
"All the more reason, then, for letting me help you repair the damage. You can't dance with that trailing in front of you."
Moore took the end of the ruffle which Bessie held out to him, and, securing a firm grip upon it, marched across the room, thus ripping off the entire bottom of the skirt.
"Thank you," said Bessie, more graciously, extending her hand for the torn piece.
Moore shook his head and held the ruffle behind him.
"Give it to me, sir," exclaimed the girl indignantly.
"It is the foam on the wave of loveliness," declared the poet, waving his prize as though it were a pennant, but carefully keeping it out of Bessie's reach.