"Oh, they're both so good to me."
"Yes," said her mother, dropping back to her pillow. "Both?"
"Yes; he's the _most_ affectionate."
The mother turned her face the other way. "Then he must be," she
murmured.
"What?" asked the child.
"Nothing. I didn't know I spoke."
The little girl stood a while still playing with her flowers. "I think
Mr. Colville is about the pleasantest gentleman that comes here. Don't
you, mamma?"
"Yes."
"He's so interesting, and says such nice things. I don't know whether
children ought to think of such things, but I wish I was going to marry
some one like Mr. Colville. Of course I should want to be tolerably old
if I did. How old do you think a person ought to be to marry him?"
"You mustn't talk of such things, Effie," said her mother.
"No; I suppose it isn't very nice." She picked out a bud in her bouquet,
and kissed it; then she held the nosegay at arm's-length before her, and
danced away with it.