"Does he flatter you, pretend that you are a queen, say all manner of fine things to you? I should like to be enlightened."
"No, no, Mary; real men are not like men in books—and he is not foolish."
"But it is not foolish in a lover. They are all out of their senses—blinded by admiration and passion."
"Perhaps; but Hector Garret is a clever man, only he speaks when he is spoken to, and does not forget you when out of sight. And do you know, I have been used to clever people, and decidedly prefer to look up to a man?"
"What does he call you, Leslie?"
"Why, Leslie, to be sure, or Miss Bower. You would not have him say Mrs. Garret yet?" And Leslie covered her face and laughed again, and reddened to the tips of her fingers.
"Not 'Bonnie Leslie,' 'Jewel,' 'Angel,'" jested Mary, thrilling at the echo of a certain low, fluttered voice, that had sounded in her own ears and would wilfully repeat, "Winsome Mary," "Little Woman," "Witch!"
"No," Leslie replied, with honest frankness, "that would be speaking nonsense; and if Hector Garret thinks nonsense that is bad enough."
"Do you remember how we talked sometimes of our husbands?"
"Yes, I do. They were all to be heroes."