“Aren’t we happy together?” she asked.
“My sky knows but one cloud,” he rejoined, “and that is that Monday comes after Sunday.”
“But we shall meet again,” said Mrs. Rosscott. “Because,” she added mischievously, “I don’t suppose that it’s on account of my cousin Maude that you rebel at the approach of Monday.”
“No,” said Jack. “It may not be polite to say so to you, but I wasn’t in the least thinking of your cousin.”
“Poor girl!” said Mrs. Rosscott thoughtfully; “and she was so sweet to you, too. Mustn’t it be terrible to have a face like that?”
“It must indeed,” said Jack; “I can think of but one thing worse.”
“What?”
“To marry a face like that.”
She laughed again.
“You’re cruel,” she declared; “after all her face isn’t her fortune, so what does it matter?”