“You surpass my dreams.”
“Yes, we women are inventive,” she said, “take heed, when you find your
ideal, it might easily happen, that she will treat you more cruelly
than you anticipate.”
“I am afraid that I have already found my ideal!” I exclaimed, burying
my burning face in her lap.
“Not I?” exclaimed Wanda, throwing off her furs and moving about the
room laughing. She was still laughing as I went downstairs, and when I
stood musing in the yard, I still heard her peals of laughter above.
* * * * *
“Do you really then expect me to embody your ideal?” Wanda asked
archly, when we met in the park to-day.
At first I could find no answer. The most antagonistic emotions were
battling within me. In the meantime she sat down on one of the
stone-benches, and played with a flower.
“Well—am I?”