"Hm," he muttered crossly, "you've been lickin' batter! It's on the end of
your nose. Why didn't you get me something?"
"There was nothing but dough," I explained, "and one batter spoon.
And--and--I say, Angel--"
"Well?" asked my elder tersely.
"I--I'm in love something awful. It hurts. It's like this--" I hurried
on--"You feel like you'd a furnace blazing in you, an' then you turn cold
jus' as if you'd shrivel up, but you _never_, _never_, forget, an'--It's
made a 'normous difference in my life, Angel--"
I got no further. Angel had thrown himself backward on the bed and, kicking
his bare legs in the air, broke into peals of delighted laughter.
"It's that yellow-faced little Jenny!" he gurgled, "Oh, holy smoke!"
His brutal mirth was short-lived. Mrs. Handsomebody appeared in the
doorway, her face genuinely shocked at the sight that met her austere eyes.
At this hour--such actions--was her house to be turned into Bedlam?--such
indecent display of limbs--she was sick with shame for Angel--would discuss
his conduct further, with him, tomorrow.
She waited while I undressed and stood over us while we said our prayers at
the side of the bed, at last extinguishing the light with a final
admonition to be silent.
I was bitterly disappointed in Angel. It was the first time he had failed
me utterly. I put my arms around the sleeping Seraph and cried myself to
sleep.