"I don't hear a sound," I whispered, letting her go again.
"Now what did you want to say?" I added, eyeing her severely.

"I wanted to say," she panted, "that it's no good pretending you
wash with a nose like that."

"A nose like that! A nose like what?" I exclaimed,
greatly offended; and though I put up my hand and very tenderly
and carefully felt it, I could find no difference in it.
"I am afraid poor Miss Robinson must have a wretched life,"
I said, in tones of deep disgust.

The little girl smiled fatuously, as though I were paying
her compliments. "It's all green and brown," she said, pointing.
"Is it always like that?"

Then I remembered the wet fir tree near the gate,
and the enraptured kiss it had received, and blushed.

"Won't it come off?" persisted the little girl.

"Of course it will come off," I answered, frowning.

"Why don't you rub it off? "

Then I remembered the throwing away of the handkerchief,
and blushed again.

"Please lend me your handkerchief," I said humbly,