"You have guessed my secret. It is a lovely little hand you have, Bessie, but your nails are too long, darlin'."
"If you behave yourself, they won't bother you, Tom."
"Each finger a lily with a rosebud for a tip," poetized Moore, presuming to kiss the bouquet. Bessie snapped her finger, sending a shower of tiny drops in the youth's face.
"A water lily?" asked she.
"Oh!" cried Moore. "Murder! Murder! You have put the soap in my eye," and he forthwith proceeded to dance around in a manner more vigorous than graceful.
Bessie was conscience-stricken at the result of her joke.
"What a shame, Tom. I am so sorry."
"Oh--h!" exclaimed Moore, sitting down on the bench with his face in his handkerchief. "Help! Thieves!"
"Oh, Tom," said Bessie, full of regret, "does it hurt you dreadfully?"
"It does that."