"And to winsome wives for wily ways!" said her husband instantly.
To do him justice, he did not often do this sort of thing.
"Keep the alliteration for the poems," retorted Winsome. "Truth will do for me."
After a little while she said, without apparent connection:
"It is very hot."
"What are they doing in the hay-field?" asked Ralph.
"Jock Forrest was leading and they were cutting down the croft very steadily. I think it looks like sixty bushels to the acre," she continued practically; "so you shall have a carpet for the study this year, if all goes well."
"That will be famous!" cried Ralph, like a schoolboy, waving his hand. It paused among Winsome's hair.
"I wish you would not tumble it all down," she said; "I am too old for that kind of thing now!"
The number of times good women perjure themselves is almost unbelievable.
But the recording angel has, it is said, a deaf side, otherwise he would need an ink-eraser. Ralph knew very well what she really meant, and continued to throw the fine-spun glossy waves over her head, as a miser may toss his gold for the pleasure of the cool, crisp touch.