“I heard the thrush,” replied John. “He said, 'Any old thing! Any old thing!' ”
He mimicked the bird's note. Stella laughed. “That's just what he said—as though a sea in a land of death or the English Channel was all the same to him. I suppose it was.”
“It must be good to be a thrush,” said Risca. “There 's a je m'en fich'isme about his philosophy which must be very consoling.”
“I know what that is in English,” cried Stellamaris. “It is 'don't-care-a-damativeness.' “ Her lips rounded roguishly over the naughty syllable.
“Where did you learn that?”
“Walter told me.”
“Walter must be clapped into irons, and fed on bread and water, and seriously spoken to.”
Unconsciously he had drifted into his usual manner of speech with her. She laughed with a child's easy gaiety.
“It's delightful to be wicked, is n't it?”
“Why?” he asked.