“My chick,” she says, “Nineteen won’t wake again in this world.” The bed clothes go quickly over Bobbie’s head, and remain there for some few minutes. When Sister Margaret’s voice is heard warning visitors of the approach of half-past four, his head reappears rather shamefacedly.
“Trixie.”
“Yes, Bobbie.”
“Anybody looking?”
“Not a soul.”
“Well,” whispers Bobbie, “if you like to bend down, you can give me a kiss.”
Miss Bell takes sedate advantage of this offer, and, readjusting her hat, when she has done so, finds her bright brown gloves.
“Thank you, Bobbie,” says Miss Bell. Then she adds very softly, “Dear.”
“Not so much of the ‘dear,’” orders Bobbie.