“No, Irinel,” I replied, exaggerating the cough which was becoming more and more of a silly habit.
“What will you give me if I tell you?”
And after once more whirling round while her gown swept across my feet, and laughing and clapping, she asked me most sedately:
“Will you kiss my hand with respect, like a grown-up person’s, if I tell you?”
“Yes, Irinel.”
And the cough again played its part.
“No, you must kiss my hand first.”
She held out her hand to me, which I kissed sadly, but with pleasure.
“And now this one!”
“And that one, Irinel.”