"But where in the world should we find a really ingenuous Ingénue?"
"They don't exist any more!" I asserted. "Gone out of style like the Teddy Bear—! Old Ingénues you see, of course, sometimes, sweet and precious and limp—as old Teddy Bears. But a brand new Ingénue—? Don't you remember the awful search we had last year and even then——?"
"Maybe you're right," worried my Husband.
And then the horrid attack of neuralgia descended on poor Mr. Husband so suddenly, so acutely, that we didn't worry at all about anything else for days! And even when that worry was over, instead of starting off gaily together for the Carolinas as we had intended, to search through steam-heated corridors, and green velvet golfways, and jessamine scented lanes, for the May Girl, my poor Husband had to dally at home instead, in a very cold, slushy and disagreeable city, to be X-rayed, tooth-pulled, ear-stabbed, and every thing but Bertilloned, while I, for certain business reason, went on ahead to meet the Spring.
But even at parting it was the dramatic anxiety that worried my Husband most.
"Now, don't you dare do a thing this time," he warned me, "until I come! Look around all you want to! Get acquainted! Size things up! But if ever two people needed to work together in a matter it's in this question of choosing a May Girl!"
Whereupon in an impulse quite as amazing to himself as to me— he went ahead and chose the May Girl all by himself!
Before I had been in the Carolinas three days the telegram came.
"Have found May Girl. Success beyond wildest dreams. Doubles with Singing Voice. Absolute miracle. Explanations."
Himself and the explanations arrived a week later. Himself, poor dear, was rather depleted. But the explanations were full enough to have pleased anybody.