"I love YOU. Oh! oh! oh!"
"Yes, dear; then tell me, now--what is the matter? What have you been
doing?"
"Noth--noth--nothing--it's th--them been na--a--agging me!"
"Nagging you?" and she smiled at the word and a tiger's horror of it.
"Who has been nagging you, love?"
"Th--those--bit--bit--it." The word was unfortunately lost in a sob.
It was followed by red faces and two simultaneous yells of
remonstrance and objurgation.
"I must ask you to be silent a minute," said Miss Fountain, quietly.
"Reginald, what do you mean by--by--nagging?"
Reginald explained. "By nagging he meant--why--nagging."
"Well, then, what had they been doing to him?"
No; poor Reginald was not analytical, dialectical and critical, like
certain pedanticules who figure in story as children. He was a
terrible infant, not a horrible one.
"They won't fight and they won't make it up, and they keep nagging,"
was all could be got out of him.
"Come with me, dear," said Lucy, gravely.
"Yes," assented the tiger, softly, and went out awestruck, holding her
hand, and paddling three steps to each of her serpentine glides.
Seated in her own room, tiger at knee, she tried topics of admonition.
During these his eyes wandered about the room in search of matter more
amusing, so she was obliged to bring up her reserve.
"And no young lady will ever marry you."
"I don't want them to, cousin; I wouldn't let them; you will marry me,
because you promised."
"Did I?"
"Why, you know you did--upon your honor; and no lady or gentleman ever
breaks their word when they say that; you told me so yourself," added
he of the inconvenient memory.
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