Kingsmead removed the worm.

"Mater been nasty?"

"Beastly."

"_H'm_. I say, Bick, I saw Ponty yesterday."

Brigit, who had turned and was gazing across the lawn, looked at him
without moving her head, a trick which is not at all English.

"Did you, now?"

"I did. He is dining here, he says. He is also sending you some flowers.
I told him," added the boy dreamily, "that we had lots ourselves."

After a moment, as she did not speak, he went on, "Poor old thing, why
did you poggle him so awfully, Bicky? You really _are_ a horrid girl,
you know."

"I didn't poggle him."

She did not turn, she did not smile, and the sombreness that was the
dominant expression of her face was strange to see in a girl of her age.

"Well----" Kingsmead's small countenance, so different from hers in its
look of palpitating interest and curiosity, suddenly flushed a deep and
a beautiful red. "I say, old girl," he broke out, "_are_ you going to?"

And she, silent and unresponsive as she was, could not avoid answering