"We belong, dear."
"Hello, here's the end of the canon. The ranch lies right behind
that spur."
"Does it?" Presently she added: "I'm all a-tremble, Bucky. To
think I'm going to meet my father and my mother for the first
time really, for I don't count that other time when we didn't
know. Suppose they shouldn't like me."
"Impossible. Suppose something reasonable," her lover replied.
"But they might not. You think, you silly boy, that because you
do everybody must. But I'm so glad I'm clothed and in my right
mind again. I couldn't have borne to meet my mother with that
boys suit on. Do you think I look nice in this? I had to take
what I could find ready-made, you know."
Unless his eyes were blinded by the glamour of love, he saw the
sweetest vision of loveliness he had known. Such a surpassing
miracle of soft, dainty curves, such surplusage of beauty in bare
throat, speaking eye, sweet mouth, and dimpled cheeks! But Bucky
was a lover, and perhaps no fair judge, for in that touch of
vagueness, of fairy-land, lent by the moonlight, he found the
world almost too beautiful to believe. Did she look NICE? How
beggarly words were to express feelings, after all.
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