“Yes, but for the food that my wife cooks it must be made of silver.”
“How do you know that what I cook will taste so good to you?”
The question was accompanied by a roguish, arch glance and was answered in the affirmative, with a glance varnished with lacquer, “What you serve to me can be nothing but delicious.”
“No; that surely is a thimble! Did the people of those days have needles?”
“It almost seems so, but you could not have done anything with that, my darling, it would be much too large even for your thumb.”
“Do you really think that? And do you like slender fingers better than broad ones?”
“Yours I do not need to see; by touch I could discover them, in the deepest darkness, among all the others in the world.”
“That is really awfully interesting. Do we still really have to go to Pompeii also?”
“No, that will hardly pay; there are only old stones and rubbish there; whatever was of value, Baedeker says, was brought here. I fear the sun there would be too hot for your delicate complexion, and I could never forgive myself that.”
“What if you should suddenly have a negress for a wife?”