"Why, child, did you think I had no eyes?" she added. "You know you were glad."
I did what I generally do—hesitated for a moment, and then came out bluntly with the truth—
"Well, Alix, I was glad. But I am not now."
Alix laughed. "That is right," she said; "always tell the plain truth, Elaine. You will find many a time, as you go through life, child, that the prettiest pasties are not always the best flavoured, nor the plainest say[#] the worst to wear."
[#] A common quality of silk.
I suppose it is so. But I never should have guessed that I should be wishing for Alix to come back.
"Marguerite," I said one morning as I was dressing, "dost thou think it would be wrong if I were to pray for a letter from Guy?"
"I cannot think it wrong to pray for anything," she answered, "provided we are willing that the good God should choose for us in the end."
"Well, but I am not sure that I am willing to have that."
"Is my Damoiselle as wise as the good Lord?"