vagance into the
bottom of the punt, bares her white arm to the elbow and essays to
catch the grasses as she sweeps by them.

"Look at those lilies," she says, eagerly; "how exquisite, in their
broad green frames! Water-sprites! how they elude one!" as she makes a
vigorous but unsuccessful grab at some on her right hand.

"Very beautiful," says Luttrell, dreamily, with his eyes on Molly, not
on the lilies.

"I want some," says Molly, revengefully; "I always do want what don't
want me, and _vice versa_. Oh! look at those beauties near you.
Catch them."

"I don't think I can; they are too far off."

"Not if you stoop very much for them. I think if you were to bend over
a good deal you might do it."

"I might; I might do something else, too," says Luttrell, calmly,
seeing it would be as easy for him to grasp the lilies in question as
last night's moon: "I might fall in."

"Oh, never mind that," responds Molly, with charming though
premeditated unconcern, a little wicked desire to tease getting the
better of her amiability.

Luttrell, hardly sure whether she jests or is in sober earnest, opens
his large eyes to their fullest, the better to judge, but, seeing no
signs of merriment in his companion, gives way to his feelings a
little.

"Well, you _are_ cool," he says, slowly.

"I am not, indeed," replies innocent Molly. "How I wish I _were_
'cool,' on such a day as this! Are _you_?"

"No," shortly. "Perhaps that is the reason you recommended me a plunge;
or is it for your amusement?"

"You are afraid," asserts Molly, with a little mischievous, scornful
laugh, not to be endured for a moment.

"Afraid!" angrily. "Nonsense! I don't care about wetting my clothes,
certainly, and I don't want to put out my cigar; but"--throwing away
the choice Havana in question--"you shall have your lilies, of course,
if you have set your heart on them."

Here, standing up, he strips off his coat with an air that means
business.

"I don't want them now," says Molly, in a degree frightened, "at least
not those. See, there are others close behind you. But I will pluck
them myself, thank you: I hate giving trouble. No, don't put your hands
near them. I won't have them if you do."

"Why?"

"Because you are cross, and I detest cross people."

"Because I didn't throw myself into the water head foremost to please
you?" with impatient wrath. "They used to call that chivalry long ago.
I call it folly. You should be reasonable."