“I don’t quite know what you want. Here are a pair of roller-skates advertised, and here is a light phaeton.”
“No,” said Kate decidedly. “That’s not matrimonial, and it’s matrimonial I like: read another.”
“There is no other.”
“Then read over the first again.”
Jack did so. Kate mused.
“Look here, Jack,” said she. “Write for me and give a good description; and say I’ll be photygraphed the first opportunity.”
“That’s no good—he’ll think you colour yourself too high.”
“But if you describe me, Jack.”
“Well—here goes. Bright eyes, rosy cheeks, with a little dimple just at the corner of the mouth, and dark hair that shines, and lips—” Jack threw down the paper on the floor, put his foot on it, and burst forth with, “Drat it! If it’s matrimonial you want, come along with me back to Sugden to the parson, and we’ll ask him to read the banns next Sunday. But perhaps you’re too tired?”
“I—I tired? Bless you, I could run all the way.”