"They were mostly about the kitchen sink," I said, laughing.
"Yes, that's what she told me when I told her she put herself into her letters," said the man whom we had called "the old Colonel" in those days. "Somehow I made up my mind that this girl I'd never seen would be different from—er—most girls. I came down here, you know, to look. And then—when I caught sight of her by that cart in the field—looking such a little picture!—I could have caught her up then and there!"
"I wonder you weren't discouraged; she was chilling enough that morning!"
"No," he denied. "I felt she didn't mean that. That was just the first minute when she had realized I was that distasteful creature a man, and yet that she didn't dislike the look of me."
"Ah! She's told you she hates men."
"Yes, we've had all that," he admitted, "and I explained to her that I ought to understand, because, as a rule, I don't like girls."
Here I lifted my head and looked severely at this humbug.
"You? Not like girls!" I exclaimed.
"Not usually," he persisted, smiling at me. "I think they're too little."
"Little? But you are in love with Elizabeth. And Elizabeth's tiny!"