Dot shook her head again.
"Would you have me break my vow, St. Lawrence?" she said.
She looked provokingly cool and unruffled as she walked along by his side; her gown was white, with transparent puffy sleeves, her hat was white and very large, she had little white canvas shoes, long white Suède gloves, and she carried a white parasol.
"I'm hanged," said Larrie, and he stopped short in the middle of the road; "look here, my good woman, are you going to take your baby, or are you not?"
Dot revolved her sunshade round her little sweet face.
"No, my good man," she said; "I don't propose to carry your baby one step."
"Then I shall drop it," said Larrie. He held it up in a threatening position by the back of its crumpled coat, but Dot had gone sailing on.
"Find a soft place," she called, looking back over her shoulder once and seeing him still standing in the road.
"Little minx," he said under his breath.
Then his mouth squared itself; ordinarily it was a pleasant mouth, much given to laughter and merry words; but when it took that obstinate look, one could see capabilities for all manner of things.