I made his wife eat some of it, and
saved a little of the breast for poor Tilly, as they call her."
"Did you take any yourself?" interrupted Graydon.
"Oh, yes, indeed! I'm one of those prosaic creatures whose appetite
never fails. If the world were coming to an end to-day I should insist
on having my breakfast."
"Madge," said Graydon, ruefully, "I might as well tell you, for I'm
sure to be found out: I once called you 'lackadaisical.'"
"Oh, I knew that over two years ago! What's more, you were right."
"No; I was not right," he answered, positively. "I should have
recognized the possibilities of your nature then. I did in regard to
your beauty, but not those higher qualities which bid fair to make you
my patron saint."
"Oh, hush, Graydon. Such words only pain me. I don't want your
compliments, and if any man made a patron saint of me I should be so
exasperated that I should probably box his ears. Let us stick to what
is simple, natural, and true, in all our talk."
"You may say what you please, Madge, I see it more clearly every day,
and reproach myself that I did not understand you. I was content to
amuse and pet you, and you naturally did not think me capable of doing
anything more.
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