"Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. “Do not force me to take you seriously,” she continued. \"I told you he likes you!\" She whispered hotly into Lucy's ear. I've often regretted that I didn't investigate the matter. ‘Go and fetch her home,’ he said; ‘it isn’t what we thought! It’s just a practical joke of hers. She nuzzled his chest and he breathed deeply of the scent of her Finesse conditioner.
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