“Preparations? They’re all made. I have my trousseau,—”
“Yes, of course. The principal preparation is to decide on the right man.”
“There’s only one right man,” and Elsie’s eyes were piteous.
“Yes, yes,” said Gerty, hurriedly, “I mean the nicest man except Kimball. Now, let’s think him over. You don’t really hate Fenn, do you?”
“No, I don’t hate him,—he’s a good friend, and all that. But, oh, Gert, I couldn’t live with him! He has no,—no imagination.”
“You mean no love of hifalutin poetry, and that sort of thing that you and Kim fooled so much time over.”
“Yes,—I suppose I do.”
“Well, let me tell you, a strong, sound personality like Fenn Whiting, is worth a lot more in the long run than a mooning, visionary sort of person.”
“Kim isn’t mooning and visionary.”
“Never mind Kim. Say, Elsie, how do you like Joe?”