“To be sure I do,” she replied, with a startled emphasis.
“Then be sure to say them before you write to that poor fellow.”
“I wish that you would write for me. Will you come the night before and stay all night with me? I shall be so afraid that the roof will tumble in, or somebody come down the chimney to catch me, that I sha’n’t sleep a wink.”
The curves of Tessa’s lips relented. “Yes, I will come. If somebody come they shall catch me, too.”
“You are a darling, after all. We are to be married about noon; Day is to send in the breakfast and the waiters—that was the plan, and if father isn’t too mad, I suppose he’ll do the same now.”
She stood still at the corner. “Well, if I do not see you—good-by till the last night of your girlhood.”
“Last night of my girlhood,” repeated Sue. “What are the other hoods?”
“Womanhood.”
“Oh, yes, and widowhood,” she said lightly.
Tessa turned the corner and walked rapidly along the pavement. “Motherhood,” she was thinking, “the sweetest hood of all! But I can sooner think of that in connection with a monkey or a butterfly than with Sue.”