"They will be red till thou comest back, Guy!" said I, with another burst of tears.
"I am sure I hope not!" he answered, laughing. "They will be very ugly if they are; and then how am I to get thee a husband?"
"I don't care about one, I thank thee," said I "So that does not signify."
"Ah, that is because thou art fourteen," said Guy; "wait till thou art four-and-twenty."
There, now! if I could have been vexed with my own dear Guy, and just when he was going away for ever—at least it looks very like for ever—but of course I could not. But why will men—even the very best of them—always fancy that a girl cares more for a husband than anything else in this world? However, I let it pass. How could I quarrel with Guy?
"Guy," I said, "dost thou care very much about having a beautiful lady for thy wife?"
Guy takes the Cross.
"Oh, certainly!" replied Guy, pursing up his lips, and pretending to be grave.
I did not like the idea one bit. I felt more inclined to cry till Guy came back than ever.
"What will she be like, Guy?" I asked, trying not to show it.