“I’ll take out these ugly ones at once,” she exclaimed, “and I’ll wear yours—shall I?”
“I should be gratified.”
Now, though it may seem unlikely, considering how far the two had gone in converse, Knight had never yet ventured to kiss Elfride. Far slower was he than Stephen Smith in matters like that. The utmost advance he had made in such demonstrations had been to the degree witnessed by Stephen in the summer-house. So Elfride’s cheek being still forbidden fruit to him, he said impulsively.
“Elfie, I should like to touch that seductive ear of yours. Those are my gifts; so let me dress you in them.”
She hesitated with a stimulating hesitation.
“Let me put just one in its place, then?”
Her face grew much warmer.
“I don’t think it would be quite the usual or proper course,” she said, suddenly turning and resuming her operation of plashing in the miniature cataract.
The stillness of things was disturbed by a bird coming to the streamlet to drink. After watching him dip his bill, sprinkle himself, and fly into a tree, Knight replied, with the courteous brusqueness she so much liked to hear—
“Elfride, now you may as well be fair. You would mind my doing it but little, I think; so give me leave, do.”