She heaved a little sigh here, half regretful, but presently went on:
“And, Robbie, you must have a tall hat and a long-tailed coat, and I wish you had whiskers and a mustache; then I guess it would seem more real, but I don’t feel a bit as if I was married now.”
Robert looked rather sober and sheepish, as he answered:
“I don’t know, Dora; I’m afraid we shouldn’t know each other rigged up in that style. I don’t think I should like you half so well, with your hair bobbed up behind, and then the long dresses would cover up your pretty little feet; and I’m sure I shouldn’t know how to act in a stove-pipe hat, and a long-tailed coat. I like you best as you are, Brightie, so I guess we hadn’t better change.”
“But,” persisted the little lady, still fearful they would not be able to support the dignity of man and wife, “don’t you think you could raise some whiskers? I think you would look real nice if you had some like Professor Allen.”
“I could get some false ones, if you want——”
“Ugh, don’t!” shivered Dora, as she thought of the horrid thing she had seen in the shop windows on the street. “Well, I don’t care much any way,” she continued; “but what do you suppose mamma will say?”
“I rather think she will be surprised when I call her mother, for I love her dearly, and you know I never had one of my own.”
His bright face fell for a moment.
“I don’t believe I can ever say papa to your father. He has been so sober and cross lately I’m almost afraid of him.”