“Do you think so?” she flushed warmly. “Why, we used to discuss that question in Virginia—the boys and girls I knew.”
“And what did Frank and Tom say?”
“They preferred beauty,” she replied, in a low voice.
“As for me,” Norman said, riding close to her side, “I should prefer a combination of both.”
He was eagerly watching the lovely face where the beautiful flickering color came and went so rapidly under the trying sunlight of the clear, bright day. He fancied that a shade of disappointment came into the clear, blue eyes.
“I thought you would think so,” she said, timidly.
“Naturally,” he replied. “Why, Sweetheart, what would beauty be without mind? A lamp without a flame, a rose without fragrance.”
She turned to him a grave, almost sad face.
“But the boys used to say that brains and beauty were but seldom united,” she ventured.
“You should not have listened,” he replied, warmly. “It was a libel upon beauty. Where could one find a fairer face than yours, Sweetheart? Yet you are most fairly gifted in mind. You have talent. Your musical abilities are of a high order, and you told me, if you remember,” mischievously, “that you had a talent for millinery.”