She looked up inquiringly. A finger of sunlight pierced the branches of an elm and pointed to her upraised face.
"I have rather bad manners," he went on. "It is a failing which you must accept as you accept the color of my hair—"
Mariana smiled.
"I say just what I think," he added.
Mariana frowned.
"That is what I complain of," she responded. Then she laughed so brightly that a tiny child, toddling with a toy upon the walk, looked up and clapped its hands.
His eyes warmed.
"But you will take me for better or for worse?" he demanded.
"Could it be better?" she asked, demurely.
"That is a matter of opinion."