OUR HONEYMOON.
THURSDAY, MAY 23, 18—
"It would be something to say, Fred, that we'd been to France."—
"To be sure," replied Fred. "And yet only to have something to say and nothing to show, is but parrot's vanity."
"But that needn't be. We might learn a great deal. And I should like to see Normandy; if only a bit of it. One could fancy the rest, Fred. And then—I've seen 'em in pictures—the women wear such odd caps! And then William the Conqueror—papa says we came in with him; so that we were Normans once; that is on papa's side—for mamma won't hear that she had anything to do with it—though papa has often threatened to get his arms. And now I think of it, Fred, what are your arms?"
"Don't you know?" asked Fred, puckering his mouth—well, like any bud. "Don't you know?"
"No, I don't;" and I bit my lip and would be serious. "What are they?"
"It's very odd," said he, "very odd. And you are Normans! To think now, Lotty, that I should have made you flesh of my flesh, without first learning where that flesh first came from. You must own, my love, it was very careless of me. A man doesn't even buy a horse without a pedigree."
(I did look at him!)
"Nevertheless"—and he went on, as if he didn't see me—"nevertheless, my beloved, I must say it showed great elevation of mind on your part to trust your future fate to a man, without so much as even a hint about his arms. But it only shows the beautiful devotion of woman! What have arms to do with the heart? Wedlock defies all heraldry."