"I don't know. I never can feel sure of these temperamental natures."
"Well, don't you worry about feeling sure of me. The longer you live, the surer you'll feel."
"That sounds like 'the longer she lives the shorter she grows,'" said
Patty, flippantly.
"Yes, the old nursery rhyme. Well, you are my candle,—a beacon, lighting my pathway with your golden beams——"
"Oh, do stop! That's beautiful talk, but it's such rubbish."
"Haven't you ever noticed that much beautiful talk IS rubbish?"
"Yes, I have. And I'm glad that you think that way, too. Beautiful thoughts are best expressed by plain, sincere words, and have little connection with 'beautiful talk.'"
"Patty Fairfield, you're a brick! And, when I've said that, I can't say anything more."
"A gold brick?"
"Not in the usual acceptance of that term; but you're pure gold, and
I'm jolly well glad I've found a girl like you."