“She makes a splendid heroine for a story.”
“That may be true; yet it is so pleasant to hear Ingomar talk about her; did you know that somehow or other an idea has got into this head of mine?”
“No, indeed! is that so?”
“Pshaw! You didn’t let me finish the sentence. I was about to remark that somehow an idea had got into my head that you are just like Lottie.”
“Oh! you are badly lost now, for I am a plain, simple girl—just like other girls, only not so pretty; and then I have an awful temper. Oh! you ought to hear me when I am angry.”
“I am truly glad to hear you say so, for I like a high-tempered woman. They make things generally stand round so lively—have the servants walk to a line—keep the floor so clean—set such nice dinners; and then it is so delightful to have a good, jolly quarrel—get up a great row, shed a few tears, and then make friends—then kiss. Oh, that’s the girl for me!”
“You draw one side of the picture very nicely.”
“You can’t frighten me with such an insinuation; but you only increase my anxiety to know more about you. By the by, were you ever in love?”
“Oh, yes! I was dead in love with a fellow once—he was such a darling! and to tell you the truth, I love him yet. He had such a black beard, such black hair, and was so handsome!”
“My hair is black, and so is my beard.”