Guy looked sure and seasoned as he poured out his plans; and together with the maturing tan and breadth from his rough life, there was an unconquerable boyishness in the lift of his head and the light of his eyes.
“This enthusiasm is truly beautiful!” she teased.
It was, in truth, infectious.
Why! it was love she had wanted. The four years had been so empty—without Guy.
She went into it alert, receptive, optimistic. But it nettled her that everybody should be so congratulatory, and nobody surprised. It wasn't what she would call ideal for two impoverished young aristocrats to start life on nothing but affection and self-confidence.
It did seem as if the choicest fruit always came to her specked.
“Never mind,” Guy encouraged her. “Just give me ten years. It will be a little hard on you at first, Bibi dear, I know, but it would be harder at your father's now. And it won't be long!”
There was only one comment of whose intention Bessie was uncertain: “So Guy is to continue carrying you over the bad places, Bessie?”
Hm! She had been thinking it rather a fine thing for her to do. And that appealed to her.
“And think what an amusing anecdote it will make after a while, Guy,—how, with all your worldly goods tied up in a red bandanna, and your wife on your arm instead of her father's doorstep, you set out to make your fortune, and to live meanwhile in the City of Un-Brotherly Love!”