"I wish I was little."
"That is too bad," I replied; "I have been admiring your grand, queenly proportions ever since you came in; and now you spoil it all by showing that you are not grateful."
"I can't help it; I wish I didn't weigh more than eighty pounds, and wasn't more than four and a half feet high."
"I am shocked! Do tell me what makes you wish so?"
"To be frank with you, the reason is just this: Men are so fond of saying, 'My little wife.'"
I laughed, thinking it was intended as a bright speech; but her flushed face assured me that, instead, she was uttering her very heart.
"Go on," I said, "tell me your thoughts."
"My thoughts are just these; and I believe they are the thoughts of all unmarried marriageable women. I long for nothing this side of heaven as I do to bury all my uncertainties and anxieties in the love of a husband. Eagerly would I make any sacrifice to secure this precious treasure. But I fear there is nothing left for me but to be sneered at as an old maid. So while I might otherwise be grateful for what you choose to call my queenly proportions, I can only wish I was one of the little women whom men seem to fancy."
I shall not tell you any more of this conversation, and my friend will excuse this much, as a text for my little sermon. Only she and I will know to whom this refers.
I wonder if it is improper to speak plainly about what so many are thinking of.