"I was thinking how old and worn and disreputable my coat looked."
"Indeed, sir," said Charmian, holding it up and regarding it with a little frown, "forsooth it is ancient, and hath seen better days."
"Like its wearer!" said I, and sighed again.
"Hark to this ancient man!" she laughed, "this hoary-headed blacksmith of ours, who sighs, and forever sighs; if it could possibly be that he had met any one sufficiently worthy—I should think that he had fallen—philosophically—in love; how think you, Sir Knight of the Rueful Countenance?"
"I remember," said I, "that, among other things, you once called me
'Superior Mr. Smith.'" Charmian laughed and nodded her head at me.
"You had been describing to me some quite impossible, idealistic creature, alone worthy of your regard, sir."
"Do you still think me 'superior,' Charmian?"
"Do you still dream of your impalpable, bloodlessly-perfect ideals, sir?"
"No," I answered; "no, I think I have done with dreaming."
"And I have done with this, thy coat, for behold! it is finished," and rising, she folded it over the back of my chair.