Her light laugh rang out sweetly.
“Anything incorrect means anything against your own ideas,” she said. “I see! Well, I won’t be as ‘rude’ as to make any statement at all about you, to your face! One should never be personal.”
She resumed her sewing, and he walked slowly to the window, looked out at the leafless branches of the trees swaying in the wind, and then walked as slowly back again.
“I suppose you do think of getting married some day?” he queried.
“Oh, dear me! Haven’t I just said one should never be personal?” she rejoined, smiling. “No,—I can’t say I have ever thought about it!”
He bent his eyes down upon her.
“‘Gather ye roses while ye may,’” he quoted sententiously. “‘Old Time is still a-flying!’”
“Is a husband a rose?” she asked, merrily.
He wrinkled his fuzzy brows.
“Well, perhaps not altogether. He might be the useful cabbage or potato in the soup. In any case for a woman, a man’s protection is necessary.”