“Silence.”
“Gosh; I'm sorry I spoke about it. I just meant——But they were crazy about you. Sam said to me, 'That little lady of yours is the slickest thing that ever came to this town,' he said; and Ma Dawson—I didn't hardly know whether she'd like you or not, she's such a dried-up old bird, but she said, 'Your bride is so quick and bright, I declare, she just wakes me up.'”
Carol liked praise, the flavor and fatness of it, but she was so energetically being sorry for herself that she could not taste this commendation.
“Please! Come on! Cheer up!” His lips said it, his anxious shoulder said it, his arm about her said it, as they halted on the obscure porch of their house.
“Do you care if they think I'm flighty, Will?”
“Me? Why, I wouldn't care if the whole world thought you were this or that or anything else. You're my—well, you're my soul!”
He was an undefined mass, as solid-seeming as rock. She found his sleeve, pinched it, cried, “I'm glad! It's sweet to be wanted! You must tolerate my frivolousness. You're all I have!”
He lifted her, carried her into the house, and with her arms about his neck she forgot Main Street.