Do you suppose?"--she came toward him, and, with her hands on
the arms of his chair, searched his face--"Do you suppose she will be
very country-looking?"
"I really couldn't guess. People who live in the backwoods and miles
from a railroad are not apt to be leaders of fashion. Doubtless her
hands will be red and her face will be red and her hair will be red,
but--"
"I don't care how red she is, I'm going to love her. I can tell by
her letters!" Dorothea's shoulders were back and her eyes were
shining. "And I don't see why you say things like that! I don't
think you are very polite!"
"I don't, either. I think I'm very impolite. It may be, you know,
that her eyes will be blue and her lips will be blue and her skin
will be blue--"
"And that will be worse than red. I thought you were going to be
glad she was coming. Aren't you glad?"
"Shall I tell the truth, or be polite?"
"Both."
"Impossible! If I told you I was glad I would be untruthful; if
sorry, I would be impolite."
"But why aren't you glad? Are you too old to be glad over young
ladies?"
Laine laughed. "I think I am. Yes, I'm sure that's what's the
matter. Not for some years have I been glad over them, I don't care
for girls older than you are, Dorothea. When they reach the grown-up
age--"
"Claudia has reached the age of twenty-six.
Pages:
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32