"Yes, I feel it, but it doesn't make me yawn like a gryphon, and deliver myself of uncouth noises."
"Well, it does me. I'm an earth creature. I want to get out and roll in the grass—ow-woof! Let's go out in the country."
"All right!" said Teresa, springing up. "Anything to get out of this beastly posing. Now, remember, you stopped this of your own accord."
"So I did." Basil enveloped her in his arms and bit her neck. She cried out and pushed herself away from him.
"Basil! I'm sure that will leave a mark, and you know I'm going out to dinner to-night!"
She fled to the mirror, and it reflected an angry countenance.
"No, it won't, and, if it does, it will only make you look nicer. There—forgive me, will you?—I didn't mean to hurt."
"You're so rough," sighed Teresa. She took off the chip hat, and began changing her dress. "Lock the door, will you? Some of your ladies might come bursting in."
"My ladies!" scoffed Basil.
He locked the door, and came back with some letters in his hand to hinder Teresa from dressing. To divert his attention, she snatched one of the letters—a fat grey envelope, addressed in a dashing hand.
