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“I do think you might have hurried,” she said, in an injured tone, “when you knew that I was not at all well.”

“What is the matter? You are all right now the tooth is out,” said Geoffrey teasingly.

“No, I am not. Look at the great hole between my teefs; it’s ’normous! I can put all my tongue in, nearly.”

“Well, don’t put any paint in, or you might die,” said Priscilla. “Loveday, dear, don’t you think I had better paint for you, while you look on?”

“No, I don’t,” said Loveday, who usually said exactly what she thought. “Geoffrey has got ‘sans poison’ paints, and I’ve got a piece of rag to wipe my brushes on, and I am waiting to begin.”

“Well, I think you are very greedy,” said Priscilla rather unjustly.

“No, I am not, I’ve been ill,” explained Loveday, looking up with a grave face and wide blue eyes full of reproach; “and when peoples are ill they are ’lowed to do what they like.”

“I don’t think you are ill. I think you are only greedy. I don’t call having just one tooth out being ill; but you make so much fuss about everything.”