That's orful nice in you, but I'd ruther eat
here. Thar's the toast and coffee to het, and an aig--"
"No! You are going to have a good, square meal and eat it with me. You
see I had to eat my birthday dinner all alone, so we'll celebrate the
first of June now, together. Slip off your apron. By the way, some day I
shall paint a picture of you in that apron scrubbing my 'mopboard.'"
Amarilly shook her head.
"I don't look fit to go nowhars with you, Mr. Derry."
"Vanitas, and the rest of it! Oh, Amarilly, only thirteen, and the
ruling passion of your sex already in full sway!"
"It's on your account that I'm ashamed," she said in defence of his
accusation. "I'd want ter look nice fer you."
"That's sweet of you, Amarilly; but if you really want to look nice,
don't think of your clothes. It's other things. Think of your hair, for
instance. It's your best point, and yet you hide it under a bushel and,
worse than that, you braid it so tight I verily believe it's wired."
"I'm used to bein' teased about my red head," she replied. "I don't
keer."
"It's a glorious red, Amarilly. The color the vulgar jeer at, and
artists like your friend and twin, Derry, rave over. You're what is
called 'Titian-haired,'"
"Are you makin' fun, Mr. Derry?" she asked suspiciously.
"No, Amarilly; seriously, I think it the loveliest shade of hair there
is, and now I am going to show you how you should wear it. Unbind it,
all four of those skin-tight braids.
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