"You'd not dare say that to yourself in the mirror.
You have wonderful color. Your eyes--there never was anything so
clear. You were always straight--that was one of the things I
admired about you. But now, you seem to be straight without the
slightest effort--the natural straightness of a sapling."
This was most agreeable, for she loved compliments, liked to
discover that the charms which she herself saw in herself were
really there. But encouraging such talk was not compatible with
the course she had laid out for herself with him. She continued
silent and cold.
"If you'd only go to sleep early, and get up early, and drop all
that the railway train carried us away from, you'd be as happy as
the birds and the deer and the fish."
"I shall not change my habits," said she tartly. "I hope you'll
drop the subject."
He leaned across the table toward her, the same charm now in his
face and in his voice that had drawn her when she first heard him
in public speech. "Let's suppose I'm a woodchopper, and you are my
wife. We've never been anywhere but just here. We're going to live
here all our lives--just you and I--and no one else--and we don't
want any one else.
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