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 A rosy spot came into the middle of Izz Huett’s cheek.

‘Well, there was no harm in it,’ she declared, with attempted coolness, ‘And if I be in love with him, so is Retty, too; and so be you, Marian, come to that.’

Marian’s full face could not blush past its chronic pinkness.

‘I!’ she said. ‘What a tale! Ah, there he is again! Dear eyes—dear face—dear Mr. Clare!’

‘There—you’ve owned it!’

‘So have you—so have we all,’ said Marian, with the dry frankness of complete indifference to opinion. ‘It is silly to pretend otherwise amongst ourselves, though we need not own it to other folks. I would just marry him to-morrow!’

‘So would I—and more,’ murmured Izz Huett.

‘And I too,’ whispered the more timid Retty.

The listener grew warm.

‘We can’t all marry him,’ said Izz.

‘We shan’t, either of us; which is worse still,’ said the eldest. ‘There he is again!’

They all three blew him a silent kiss.

‘Why?’ asked Retty quickly.