Your Electronic Books

"I shouldn't have expected to see you here to-night, Miriam Leivers,"
said Beatrice wickedly.
"Why not?" murmured Miriam huskily.
"Why, let's look at your shoes."
Miriam remained uncomfortably still.
"If tha doesna tha durs'na," laughed Beatrice.
Miriam put her feet from under her dress. Her boots had that queer,
irresolute, rather pathetic look about them, which showed how
self-conscious and self-mistrustful she was. And they were covered with
mud.
"Glory! You're a positive muck-heap," exclaimed Beatrice. "Who cleans
your boots?"
"I clean them myself."
"Then you wanted a job," said Beatrice. "It would ha' taken a lot of men
to ha' brought me down here to-night. But love laughs at sludge, doesn't
it, 'Postle my duck?"
"Inter alia," he said.
"Oh, Lord! are you going to spout foreign languages? What does it mean,
Miriam?"
There was a fine sarcasm in the last question, but Miriam did not see
it.
"'Among other things,' I believe," she said humbly.
Beatrice put her tongue between her teeth and laughed wickedly.


Pages:
405 406 407 408 409 410 411 412 413 414 415 416 417 418 419 420 421 422 423 424 425 426 427 428 429