"I shan't tell you," said Irene saucily.
"Oh, well, never mind. Did you know Mr. Corey had been down here this afternoon, walking on the beach with me?"
"He wasn't--he wasn't at all! He was at the house with ME. There! I've caught you fairly."
"Is that so?" drawled Penelope. "Then I never could guess who gave you that precious shaving."
"No, you couldn't!" said Irene, flushing beautifully. "And you may guess, and you may guess, and you may guess!" With her lovely eyes she coaxed her sister to keep on teasing her, and Penelope continued the comedy with the patience that women have for such things.
"Well, I'm not going to try, if it's no use. But I didn't know it had got to be the fashion to give shavings instead of flowers. But there's some sense in it. They can be used for kindlings when they get old, and you can't do anything with old flowers. Perhaps he'll get to sending 'em by the barrel."
Irene laughed for pleasure in this tormenting. "O Pen, I want to tell you how it all happened."
"Oh, he DID give it to you, then? Well, I guess I don't care to hear."
"You shall, and you've got to!" Irene ran and caught her sister, who feigned to be going out of the room, and pushed her into a chair. "There, now!" She pulled up another chair, and hemmed her in with it. "He came over, and sat down on the trestle alongside of me----"
"What? As close as you are to me now?"