Читать книгу Pemrose Lorry, Radio Amateur онлайн

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But, now, it was Una, petted child, who set her foot down, stamping it again—stamping passionately:

“Dismiss Andrew—father!” she cried. “Andrew who picked me up bodily and hurled me into the back of the car when I was out with him alone, six months ago, and another auto, recklessly driven, came right for us round a corner! Andrew who never thought of himself, at all—only of saving me! Who—who was so badly battered—got some of the glass of the wind shield into him—that he had to have....” She almost snapped her fingers at her father.

“There! There, child! Of course I didn’t mean it.” The latter patted her shoulder soothingly. “But I wish he’d shed his Scotch mists, anywhere but in your ears.”

“Well—well, Andrew had nothing to do with this,” insisted Una, after a cooling minute. “I did hear it, that funny—piping—hum. The Quaker Ladies heard it, too—” her eyebrows arching merrily—“and they thought ’twas like the ringing and singing in harebells—”

“There now, Jack! There now!” Her father threw up his hands as he called his only daughter by the name, occasionally, thrust upon her by her girl chums, as a satire upon the “betty” element in her being so strong—on her being as far as possible removed from what might, possibly, be known as a “lassie-boy.” “There you are! You’re just steeped to the ears in these flower legends, very finespun and poetic—but too airy an atmosphere for a girl like you, with an imagination that ‘works overtime.’ Oh! I’m glad of your new interest in your flowers; it overcame your—”