"Oh, you really are--" she exclaimed. "But let me go on. The other
man is a friend of the girl's: he's very clever--oh, fearfully
clever--and he's rather handsome. You needn't put that down."

"It is certainly not very material," admitted the philosopher, and
he crossed out "handsome"; "clever" he left.

"And the girl is most awfully--she admires him tremendously; she
thinks him just the greatest man that ever lived, you know. And
she--she--" The girl paused.

"I'm following," said the philosopher, with pencil poised.

"She'd think it better than the whole world if --if she could be
anything to him, you know."

"You mean become his wife?"

"Well, of course I do--at least, I suppose I do."

"You spoke rather vaguely, you know."

The girl cast one glance at the philosopher as she replied:

"Well, yes; I did mean become his wife."

"Yes. Well?"

"But," continued the girl, starting on another tuft of grass, "he
doesn't think much about those things. He likes her. I think he