The door opened softly. Before she had time to turn round two hands were clapped over her eyes. She struggled to free herself, but the hands grew more insistent and two thumbs softly touched her cheeks.
'Dimple, dimple,' said a voice, while one of the thumbs gently dwelled near the corner of her mouth.
Victoria struggled to her feet, a little flushed, a strand of hair flying over her left ear.
'Mr Jack,' she said rather curtly, 'I don't like that. You know you mustn't do that. It's not fair. I really don't like it.' She was angry; her nostrils opened and shut quickly; she glared at the good looking boy before her.
'Naughty temper,' he remarked, quite unruffled. 'You'll take a fit one of these days, Vicky, if you don't look out.'
'Very likely if you give me starts like that. Not that I mind that so much, but really it's not nice of you. You know you wouldn't do that if your mother was looking.'
'Course I wouldn't,' said Jack, 'the old mater's such a back number, you know.'
'Then,' replied Victoria with much dignity, 'you ought not to do things when we're alone which you wouldn't do before her.'
'Oh Lord! morals again,' groaned the youth. 'You are rough on me, Vicky.'
'And you mustn't call me Vicky,' said Victoria. 'I don't say I mind, but it isn't the thing. If anybody heard you I don't know what they'd think.'