“Oh, Leona!” cried Eunice, “what a little humbug you are! Not worth a penny! Well, now, if I were thinking of what you were thinking of, and you should say what I did, I should have answered that my thoughts were worth a great many pennies.”
Leona smiled again, then looked shyly at her friend.
“How can you know what I am thinking of? I hardly believe I know myself,” said Leona.
“Let me word your thoughts, then, for you. A tall, manly figure; long black hair, curling, oh! so romantically down over his shoulders; a pair of jet-black eyes; an honest, handsome, earnest face—and the—the—well, the wish that he might think of somebody as somebody thinks of him. Come, confess, ain’t I right?” and Eunice put her arms around the slender figure by her side and drew the shapely little head with the silken curls down upon her shoulder.
“Yes,” came in a whisper from the lips of Leona.
“There!” cried Eunice, triumphantly, “I knew that I was right, and, you little cheat, to try to deceive me!”
“But, Eunice,” rejoined Leona, “I don’t know that he cares any thing for me.”
“Then you must be blind!” exclaimed Eunice, impulsively. “Why, I can see that he worships the very ground you walk on. When we are riding with him at the head of the train, he never takes his eyes from you for a single moment. Now, he’s something like a lover; he’s never obtrusive, yet always near at hand to do you service. If he don’t love you, then you will never be loved by mortal man, and your fate will be to die an old maid.”
“Are you sure that he loves me?” asked Leona, dreamily, her fingers pushing the little curls back from her forehead.
“Of course I am! I only wish some such nice-looking fellow would fall in love with me. I wouldn’t let him grieve himself to death for want of a loving word.”