"One who shall yet sing before Kings and Princes—I call her 'Sunshine'—her name is Harriet Woodman."
With a sigh of relief she threw herself back in the big armchair in a pose of natural grace, her lips twitched, the golden head tipped to one side thoughtfully, and he waited for her to speak.
"But, Jim, suppose I'm not ambitious? Suppose I'm just a silly little home body who only wishes to be loved?"
"And so you will be loved. They will come in troops—these lovers—serious and gay, and fall at your feet——"
"But if I only want one—and he is not there—they will tire me, won't they?"
"When I see those two dimples come into your cheeks now and then I think you will enjoy it."
"Perhaps I would."
The head nodded in quick friendly understanding. She raised her arms and touched the bow of ribbon on her luxuriant hair with another suggestion of coquetry, quickly lowered them, drew the short skirt down further over her knees, gazed thoughtfully at Stuart, and with a quizzical look in her eyes asked:
"How old do you think a girl must be to really and deeply and truly love, Jim?"
Stuart's brow contracted and he took her hand in his, stroked it tenderly and studied the beautiful lines as they melted from the firmly shaped wrist into the rounded arm and gracefully moulded body.