“I suppose they have,” Margaret sighed. “I don’t want her to be married. I want to take her off by myself and growl over her all alone for a while. Then I want Prince Charming to come along and snatch her up quickly, and set her behind his milk white charger and ride away with her. If we’ve all got to get together and connive at marrying her off there won’t be any comfort in having her.”
“I don’t know,” David said thoughtfully; “I think that might be fun, too. A vicarious love-affair that you can manipulate is one of the most interesting games in the world.”
“That’s not my idea of an interesting game,” Margaret said. “I like things very personal, David,—you ought to know that by this time.”
“I do know that,” David said, “but it sometimes occurs to me that except for a few obvious facts of that nature I really know very little about you, Margaret.” 205
“There isn’t much to know—except that I’m a woman.”
“That’s a good deal,” David answered slowly; “to a mere man that seems to be considerable of an adventure.”
“It is about as much of an adventure sometimes as it would be to be a field of clover in an insectless world.—This is wonderful tea, David, but your cream is like butter and floats around in it in wudges. No, don’t get any more, I’ve got to go home. Grandmother still thinks it’s very improper for me to call upon you, in spite of Mademoiselle and your ancient and honorable housekeeper.”
“Don’t go,” David said; “I apologize on my knees for the cream. I’ll send out and have it wet down, or whatever you do to cream in that state. I want to talk to you. What did you mean by your last remark?”
“About the cream, or the proprieties?”
“About women.”