So he is gloomily borne off to the Lumps-of-Delight shop, where Rosa makes her purchase, and, after offering some to him (which he rather indignantly declines), begins to partake of it with great zest: previously taking off and rolling up a pair of little pink gloves, like rose-leaves, and occasionally putting her little pink fingers to her rosy lips, to cleanse them from the Dust of Delight that comes off the Lumps.
“Now, be a good-tempered Eddy, and pretend. And so you are engaged?”
“And so I am engaged.”
“Is she nice?”
“Charming.”
“Tall?”
“Immensely tall!” Rosa being short.
“Must be gawky, I should think,” is Rosa’s quiet commentary.
“I beg your pardon; not at all,” contradiction rising in him. “What is termed a fine woman; a splendid woman.”
“Big nose, no doubt,” is the quiet commentary again.
“Not a little one, certainly,” is the quick reply, (Rosa’s being a little one.)
“Long pale nose, with a red knob in the middle. I know the sort of nose,” says Rosa, with a satisfied nod, and tranquilly enjoying the Lumps.
“You don’t know the sort of nose, Rosa,” with some warmth; “because it’s nothing of the kind.”