Yet she laughed as she said it, and he laughed, too. He was really very handsome, ruddy and bright and big—and with that air of gay deference. She liked to sit beside him, and listen to the things he had to tell her. It was peaceful after all the strenuous days.
She was aware that if she married Towne life would be always like this. A glorified existence. She would be like Curlylocks of the nursery rhyme....
“What are you smiling at?” Frederick demanded. His eyes as they met hers burned a bit. Jane was half-buried in a black fur robe—with only the white oval of her face and her little gray hat showing above it.
“Nursery rhymes.” The smile deepened.
“Which one?”
“Curlylocks.”
“I don’t remember it. Oh, yes, by Jove, I do. She was the damsel who sat on a cushion and sewed a fine seam, and feasted on strawberries, sugar and cream?”
“Yes.”
“Good. That’s what I want to do for you. You know it?”