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The comical side of it must have occurred to him, the girl gathering up a dress fit for a princess, to sit there. He laughed, not an altogether humorous laugh. "Illustrative of the true state of things, as it were," he said. "I proffer my lady a milk-bench." A sob rose in her throat. "I hate you," she said hotly.
With a sudden descent from his ethereal mood he pounced upon her and, in spite of violent protestations, danced her madly down the walk and deposited her breathless upon the milk-bench. "He's getting worse all the time," she complained to Aunt Melvy, who had watched the performance with great glee. "Yas,'m," said Aunt Melvy, with a fond look at his retreating figure.
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