The girl had been sitting on one foot, and as she jumped up quickly she
stumbled a little, laughing.
"Oh, Dick, you nice thing!" she exclaimed. "I _am_ glad to see you. But
my foot's asleep. Goodness, what needles and pins!"
She stamped about on the polished floor, with two small feet in silk
stockings and high-heeled, gold-buckled slippers, a novel tucked under
her arm, and one hand clasping her cousin's.
"Well," he said, "if any creature could be less like a parson's wife
than you, madam, I'd like to see it."
"I know I'm the exact opposite of what one ought to be," she laughed,
"and it almost makes me feel not legally married. But don't--don't,
please, if you love me, use that awful word 'parson' again. I can't
stand it. Don't you think it sounds just like the crackle of cold,
overdone toast?"
"Can't say I ever thought about it," said Carleton.
"Well, I have, constantly. It was a long time before I could make up my
mind to say 'yes' to St. George, on account of that word."
"Is St. George his name?" Dick asked.
"It's my name for him. The 'saint' part's my private property. But he is
a saint, if ever there was one: and a good thing too, as he's got a
dragon on the hearth to tame; but a _little_ inconvenient sometimes for
the poor dragon. Oh, Dick, you've no idea how good and pure-minded and
absolutely Alpine and on the heights he is. Often I expect to pick
edelweiss in his back hair."
Carlton gave one of his sudden, boyish laughs.
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