Also she felt that the plush, with which her mother and the dressmaker at St.Croix had decorated her bodice, was not the thing.

Presently this made her angry.
"Won't you sit down ?" she asked a little maliciously, pointing to the rocking-chair in the salon.
"I prefer standing--with you," he answered, eyeing the chair with a sly twinkle.
"No, that isn't it," she rejoined sharply.

"You don't like the chair." Then suddenly breaking into English--"Ah! I know, I know.

You can't fool me.

I see de leetla look in your eye; and you not like the paint, and you'd pitch that painter, Alcide, out into the snow if it is your house." "I wouldn't, really," he answered--he coughed a little--"Alcide is doing his work very well.