That's the kind of girl that's worth having." "And you don't find them ?" laughed Lucy, looking at him out of the corners of her eyes.
"Well, not many.

Do you mind little things like that ?" As he spoke his eyes wandered over her bare shoulders until they rested on the blossoms, the sort of roaming, critical eyes that often cause a woman to wonder whether some part of her toilet has not been carelessly put together.

Then he added, with a sudden lowering of his voice: "That's a nice posy you've got.

Who sent it ?" and he bent his head as if to smell the cluster on her bosom.
Lucy drew back and a slight flush suffused her cheek; his audacity frightened her.

She was fond of admiration, but this way of expressing it was new to her.