Faith could not deny it; howsoever she looked quaintly grave upon the proposition.
"Do you know how you will have to scour the country now, and make yourself as much as possible like cowslips and buttercups and primroses and mouse-ear?" said Mr. Linden smiling. "One day you may be a Spring beauty, and the next Meadow-sweet, and when I see you a wild pink I shall feel comparatively happy."
Faith with a very little laugh remarked that she did not feel as if she ever should be anything wild.
"What is your definition of wild?"
"Not tame."
"Does that meek adjective express the kind of pink you intend to be?"
"I didn't say what I should be—I only spoke of what I am."
"Shall I tell you the future tense of this very indicative mood?" he said touching her cheeks.
"If you know it!"
"If I know it!—You will be (some months later) a Linden flower!—whether wild or tame remains to be been."