"Well," he said, "if any creature could be less like a parson's wife than you, madam, I'd like to see it."
"I know I'm the exact opposite of what one ought to be," she laughed, "and it almost makes me feel not legally married. But don't—don't, please, if you love me, use that awful word 'parson' again. I can't stand it. Don't you think it sounds just like the crackle of cold, overdone toast?"
"Can't say I ever thought about it," said Carleton.
"Well, I have, constantly. It was a long time before I could make up my mind to say 'yes' to St. George, on account of that word."
"Is St. George his name?" Dick asked.
"It's my name for him. The 'saint' part's my private property. But he is a saint, if ever there was one: and a good thing too, as he's got a dragon on the hearth to tame; but a little inconvenient sometimes for the poor dragon. Oh, Dick, you've no idea how good and pure-minded and absolutely Alpine and on the heights he is. Often I expect to pick edelweiss in his back hair."
Carlton gave one of his sudden, boyish laughs. "That sounds like you. How did you come to marry such a chap?"
"I was so horribly afraid some other girl would get him, if I left him lying about. But do let's sit down. My foot's wide awake again now."
They sat on the cushioned window seat and smiled into each other's eyes.
"How brown you are!" she exclaimed.