“You’ll make me cross,” said Trixie, with great confusion and delight.
“Give it back to me, then,” suggested Robert.
“I fancy I see myself doing that,” said Trixie, ironically.
“I’ve fancied it a lot of times,” remarked Robert. “Now it seems to me we’ve arrived at what you may call reality.”
“Of course,” said Trixie, leaning on the counter and keeping one eye on the window, “it isn’t exactly as though we were strangers, is it? What I mean to say is, we’ve known each other, Bobbie, for a long time, and you’ll be seventeen next birthday—”
“Don’t argue,” said Robert. “Do what I ask you.”
“It’ll ’ave to be a very little one,” said Miss Bell, seriously. And leaned forward.
“Thanks,” said Robert. “That’s what I’ve been looking forward to.”
“Now, you must give up all this nonsense,” declared Trixie, with a sage air, and glancing at herself in the panel looking-glass, “and behave. Will you come upstairs and see mother?”
“I thought p’raps you and me might go out this afternoon for a bit of a outing. I’ve got to rejoin my ship this evening, and I shan’t have many chances of seeing you when I’m down at Plymouth.”