Sublime

Poppy was every fine, good, unselfish impulse that he would never have. She was every caring thought, loving gesture, happy moment, that he would never know. She was every minute of peaceful sleep that would forever elude him.

“Well,” Poppy said in resignation, “it’s better than being a hedgehog, I suppose.” “Miss Marks is a hedgehog,” Beatrix said in a matter-of-fact tone that made Poppy grin.

Poppy had no idea why her brother and Miss Marks displayed such antagonism toward each other. “I think they secretly like each other,” Beatrix had said mildly.

But it was one of Poppy’s failings that she loved conversation, and like Dodger facing a drawer full of garters, she couldn’t resist indulging.

“Mr. Bayning is not a frog,” Poppy protested. “You’re right,” Beatrix said. “That was very unfair to frogs, who are lovely creatures.” As Poppy parted her lips to object, she heard Miss Marks snicker.

“Poppy Hathaway,” he whispered as if it were a magical incantation.