“And you are quite satisfied?” she queried again, solemnly.
“Quite!”
“And you’ll never grow tired of me?”
“Never! Why, dearie,––how could I?”
“Oh, I don’t know! Men do, sometimes. I guess I am just foolish. But, if I don’t measure up, you will promise to be lenient with me?”
“You’ll always measure up with me, Eileen. It is my measuring up with you that I am afraid of.”
“And if I don’t just grasp things quickly;––if I can’t climb the mountains of thought and progress as fast as you can,––you won’t grow impatient?”
“No!”
“You’ll wait for me, and help me over the boulders, and even if I wish to sit down and rest for a while, you’ll sit down with me and rest also until I am ready to climb on? You won’t run ahead––as so many husbands do––so far ahead that I shall not be able to catch up?”