"Does that mean that you are suffering?—because if that be the case, I will refresh you (cautiously) with sugar-plums! A very superfluous thing, to be sure, but the most suitable I can think of."
Faith's laugh came clear now. "No indeed. Suffering! I never eat so many dinners in one day in my life. But I am hungry though, I believe. How many more places are we going to? I don't care how many," she said earnestly. "I like to be hungry."
"Well, keep up your spirits,—the next turn will bring us out of the woods, and a three-minute stay at one or two doors will end our work for this time. Meanwhile, do you want to hear a little bit of good poetry—on an entirely new subject?"
"Oh yes! if you please."
Demurely enough it was given.—
"'Her true beauty leaves behind
Apprehensions in my mind
Of more sweetness, than all art
Or inventions can impart.
Thoughts too deep to be expressed,
And too strong to be repressed.'"
She gave him a wistful look as he finished the lines; and then sat among her furs, as quiet again as a mouse.
"Do you like them, Mignonette?"
"Yes—very much."
"Would you like to tell me then why the hearing of them makes you sober?"