"Does crewel-work improve the mind?" opening her eyes for an instant lazily.
"Certainly; in so far that it leaves time for reflection. There is something soothing about it that assists the mind. While one works one can reflect."
"Can one?" naughtily: "I couldn't. I can do any number of things, but I am almost positive I couldn't reflect. It means—doesn't it?—going over and over and over again disagreeable scenes, and remembering how much prettier one might have behaved under such and such circumstances. I call that not only wearying but unpleasant. No, I feel sure I am right. I shall never, if I can help it, reflect."
"Then you are content to be a mere butterfly—an idler on the face of the earth all your days?" asks Florence, severely, taking the high and moral tone she has been successfully cultivating ever since her acquaintance with Mr. Boer.
"As long as I can. Surely when I marry it will be time enough to grow 'useful,' and go in for work generally. You see one can't avoid it then. Keeping one's husband in order, I have been always told, is an onerous job."
"You intend marrying, then?" Something in the other's tone has roused Florence to curiosity. She sits up and looks faintly interested.
"Yes."
"Soon?"
"Perhaps."
"You are serious?"