“Well,” said Flossy, in her full, dear tones, “so does love—generally. I always observe that when a girl can’t do her lessons, or can’t eat her dinner, and is dismal and rather a bore, Mary has a confidence from home about her. And if one happens to see the man he’s generally such a creature. Now, I can imagine regarding Saint Ambrose—”
“Flossy!”
“Well, of course, I mean some one like him. I think my ideal is a mixture of intellect and strong common-sense, something like King Alfred. And I greatly admire the strength of Luther and Hampden; only those people are so often on the wrong side. But you see, Mysie, I shall never meet the great man of the age, and I shall never care for anyone unless he is wiser, cleverer, and better than I am myself!”
“That would be so difficult to find,” said Mysie.
“Mysie, how dare you be so sarcastic!” cried Flossy, with a great, hearty laugh. “But I don’t care; I can do without him, and when he turns up I’ll let you know.”
“Is he to be anything like that man in your old story who never smiled?” said Mysie.
“No, no, that was a very juvenile idea. But, Mysie,” coming nearer and speaking with slight embarrassment, “there is a story and a hero in it. I wonder if you would like him.”
“Oh, do show it to me.”
“Then, you must promise not to tell Arthur. Ah, is Arthur so cool as you are about your cousin?”
“No,” said Mysie, “he says that he should say ‘no’ in Hugh’s place. But,” she concluded quietly, “that is because it is coming so near.”