("Oh, you do?")
"No?" His grip on her wrist hurt, and forced her to look up. ("Is it only a mother you want for Lola—and yourself?"); and, looking, she was satisfied; and, looking, she flushed slowly from head to foot, answering him.
"The most loyal, affectionate woman in the world!" he added, after a little.
"Oh, never mind the fairy tales!" she scoffed, pleased, waiting.
He spoke none of the time-honored commonplaces that belittle or dignify or mask the real individual feeling under the stereotype of what it is assumed love ought to be. He could foresee her amusement. Besides, it would have been about as appropriate as trying to capture a bird with a smile.
"But I would never marry any woman that I wasn't sure would be kind to Lola and fond of her."
"Oh, Lola!" Her whole look was soft and sweet. "I am fond of her now." Then a mischievous laugh bubbled in her throat. "And could be of you, too, if you insist." Even with the laugh her eyes were deeper than words, grave and tender.
"As to that, also, Molly-Moll, what you will be to me I am quite satisfied, quite."