’ ‘Do not make a game with me,’ she interrupted, gripping her underlip firmly between her teeth to stop the threatening laughter. She let go of him and stood up, straightening herself. Wood scarcely knew where he was. The word "criticism" had no concrete meaning to her then; no more than "compromise. It had ceased to beat. Then, seeing Melusine’s feathered beaver had fallen to the floor, picked that up for her. A glance sufficed to show the young man how matters stood. That a longing of hers should be realized in this strange fashion was difficult to believe: it vaguely suggested something of a trap. ‘What in the world is that?’ demanded Miss Froxfield. It was not a hopeful looking group. ” The ants seemed to salute in attention.
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