“I must tow you out of the way of that skulking land-shark, my beauty.”
She, nothing displeased, took the offered arm; and declared that she was “so obliged she couldn’t tell.”
“An’ wot’s yer name, my pretty poppet?”
“Polly,” she replied, with a blush that enhanced her many charms.
“An’ yer t’other name is—”
“Smith,” she replied, coyly.
“H’m. Wot d’ye think of Bunting as a name—come now?”
“Sweetly bee-utiful,” she murmured.
“That’s my name.”
“No!” she exclaimed in a tone that betokened a delighted surprise.