"You hurt me," she answered, exhibiting her finger.
"I 'm more than sorry, Bessie, but what ails your pinkie?"
"I burned my hand."
"Shall I burn the other for you?" asked Moore, extending his in invitation.
"How could you?" she demanded, suspecting a trap.
"Why," said Moore, "with a kiss half as warm as my heart."
Bessie giggled, then tried to resume her dignity, but Moore had no intention of letting such an advantage pass unutilized, and, seizing her uninjured hand, planted a hearty smack in its warm palm.
"Mr. Moore!"
"Mistress Dyke!"
"I shan't allow you to stay here if you cannot behave in a sensible manner," she threatened.