"Not the very least in the world, Tom, not a gleam of hope! But don't feel bad about it; I am tired of brilliant men; everybody is something wonderful now-a-days; it's really fatiguing."
"Do you think so?" demanded he; "do you really?"
"Upon my honor."
"Then I'm glad I am a donkey," said Tom, energetically.
"And so am I," returned Elsie. "There, see, isn't that a lovely wreath?"
She held up the hat for Tom to scent the delicious fragrance of the garland twisted around it.
"You take the color quite out of them, holding them near your cheeks," said Tom, with a glance of admiration.
"I declare you are getting complimentary! You shall have a wild rosebud for your button-hole in payment; kneel down here, while I put it in."
Tom dropped on his knees while Elsie leisurely selected the flower. She was talking all the while, and Tom on his part would have been glad to prolong the situation indefinitely, for the pleasure of having her little face so close to his, and her hands flirting the blossoms about his lips was entrancing.
"No," pursued she, "I am tired of brilliant men; they always make my head ache with their grand talk. You know I'm a childish little thing, Tom, and learned discussions don't suit me."