Fay raised her head with a little dignity.
“I wish you would not call me that, Hugh.”
“Not call you what?” in genuine astonishment. “Why, are you not my Wee Wifie? I think it is the best possible name I could find for you; is it not pretty enough for your ladyship?”
“Yes, but it is so childish and will make people smile, and Aunt Griselda would be shocked, and—” but here she broke off, flushed and looking much distressed.
“Nay, give me all your reasons,” said Hugh, kindly. “I can not know all that is in my little wife’s heart yet.”
But Hugh, as he said this, sighed involuntarily, as he thought how little he cared to trace the workings of that innocent young mind.
The gentleness of his tone gave Fay courage.
“I don’t know, of course—at least I forget—but I am really sure that—that—‘The Polite Match-Maker’ would not consider it right.”
“What?” exclaimed Hugh, opening his eyes wide and regarding Fay with amazement.
“‘The Polite Match-Maker,’ dear,” faltered Fay, “the book that Aunt Griselda gave me to study when I was engaged, because she said that it contained all the necessary and fundamental rules for well-bred young couples. To be sure she smiled, and said it was a little old-fashioned; but I was so anxious to learn the rules perfectly that I read it over three or four times.”