I had expected that the Theif would take my hint and act
that night, if not scared off by learning that I belonged to the
object of his nefarius designs. But he did not come, and I was
wakened on the library table at 8 A. M. by George coming in to
open the windows.
I was by that time looking pale and thin, and my father
said to me that morning, ere departing for the office:
"Haven't anything you'd like to get off your chest, have
you, Bab?"
I sighed deeply.
"Father," I said, "do you think me cold? Or lacking in
afection?"
"Certainly not."
"Or one who does not know her own mind?"
"Well," he observed, "those who have a great deal of mind
do not always know it all. Just as you think you know it some
new corner comes up that you didn't suspect and upsets
everything."
"Am I femanine?" I then demanded, in an anxious manner.
"Femanine! If you were any more so we couldn't bare it."
I then inquired if he prefered the clinging Vine or the
independant tipe, which follows its head and not its instincts.
He said a man liked to be engaged to a clinging Vine, but that
after marriage a Vine got to be a darned nusance and took
everything while giving nothing, being the sort to prefer
chicken croquets to steak and so on, and wearing a boudoir cap
in bed in the mornings.
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