There was a fresh breeze quickening the air upon the uplands beyond old Morlaas, to whip the flags into a steady flutter and now and again flick a dark tress of hair across Adèle's dear cheeks.
As we scrambled across country—
"Why, oh, why," she wailed, "did ever I let it grow? I'll have it cut again to-morrow. I swear I will."
"And what about me?" said I. "You're a joint tenant with me. You can't commit waste like that without my consent."
"I'm sure I can abate—is that right?—a nuisance."
"It's not a nuisance. It's a glory. When I wake up in the morning and see it rippling all over the pillow, I plume myself upon my real and personal interest in such a beautiful estate. Then I start working out how many lockets it 'ld fill, and that sends me to sleep again."
"Does it really ripple?" said Adèle. "Or is that a poet's licence?"
"Rather," said I. "Sometimes, if I'm half asleep, I feel quite seasick."
Adèle smiled thoughtfully.
"In that case," she announced, "I'll reconsider my decision. But I wish to Heaven it 'ld ripple when I'm awake."