"Mean it? It's poor justice my words do your beauty, Bessie dear. You have the sauciest, darlingest, scornfullest nose, and such a mouth! Why, to look at it makes my lips pucker."
"A lemon would do the same," observed Bessie, foiling Moore's attempt to snatch a kiss by sitting back in her chair. "You need not think I believe all your nonsense, Thomas Moore."
"Don't you believe what I have just said, Bessie?"
"Not I. You need n't flatter yourself."
"Why needn't I? Will you do it for me?"
"I have something better to do," replied Bessie, paring another quill with much vigor.
"That is what I call a cutting remark," said Moore, looking at the knife.
Bessie sighed, and temporarily abandoned her labors.
"Tom Moore," she said solemnly, "why will you make such awful puns?"
"Practice makes perfect, my dear. If I keep on, some day I may make a good one."