But this had been translated as above by
Edward Bowne when Felipa suddenly descended upon him one day and
demanded to be instantly told what the gracious lady was saying about
her; for she seemed to know by intuition when we spoke of her, although
we talked in English and mentioned no names. When told, her small face
beamed, and she kissed Christine's hand joyfully and bounded away.
Christine took out her beautiful handkerchief and wiped the spot.
"Christine," I said, "do you remember the fate of the proud girl who
walked upon bread?"
"You think that I may starve for kisses some time?" said my friend,
going on with the wiping.
"Not while I am alive," called out Edward from behind. His style of
courtship _was_ of the sledge-hammer sort sometimes. But he did not get
much for it on that day; only lofty tolerance, which seemed to amuse him
greatly.
Edward played with Felipa very much as if she was a rubber toy or a
trapeze performer. He held her out at arm's length in mid-air, he poised
her on his shoulder, he tossed her up into the low myrtle trees, and
dangled her by her little belt over the claret-colored pools on the
barren; but he could not frighten her: she only laughed and grew wilder
and wilder, like a squirrel. "She has muscles and nerves of steel," he
said admiringly.
"Do put her down: she is too excitable for such games," I said in
French, for Felipa seemed to divine our English now. "See the color she
has.
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