"Have I ever what?"
"Thought of it … of getting married?"
"Good Lord! not yet. There's been such a lot of other things…."
"Well, when you do I'll hope you'll be very happy," said Phoebe.
"Thanks! I hope so too."
"I don't suppose you'll know me then."
"Why ever not?"
"Oh, well, of course you'll marry a real lady, and she wouldn't want to know me. She'd think me common."
"What utter nonsense, Phoebe! Do all girls talk such silly nonsense? Why, of course I'll always be far too fond of you to lose sight of you, and I expect you and my wife—how idiotic that sounds—will be no end of friends." He did not think so; but there struck him that there was something rather plaintive and wistful about Phoebe that afternoon. Suddenly she rose and settled the basque of her jacket with quick, nervous fingers.
"I must go," she said hurriedly. "I don't know what Vassie'll say at me staying up here like this."