"And she has," he proceeded obediently, "eyebrows and eyelashes—"
"One might have guessed them."
"—beyond the common, long and dark and soft. The rest of her face is the only possible setting for her eyes. It is perfection."
"And is she gentle, womanly, tender? Is she, I so often wonder, good enough to you?"
"She treats me hundreds of times better than I deserve."
"Doesn't she rather swindle you? Doesn't she let you squander your time?"—she glanced at the clock—"your substance?"—she bent to lay her cheek against the violets at her breast—"your affection upon her—?"
"And how could she be kinder? And when I marry her—"
"And if," Miss Knowles amended.
"There's no question about it," he retorted. "She knows that I shall marry her." Miss Knowles looked unconvinced. "She knows that she will marry me." Miss Knowles looked rebellious. "She knows that I shall never marry anyone else." Miss Knowles took that apparently for granted.
"Dear boy!" said she.