Nattie stared.
"What a strange fancy!" she exclaimed. "'C' is very real, and of the earth, earthy to me, I assure you!"
Quimby's face lengthened some three inches. "Is he?" he said ruefully. "I—I beg pardon, but you haven't—you don't mean to say that—you have not taken a—bless my soul! how warm it is here!" and he mopped his face with a red silk handkerchief—a color very unbecoming to his complexion.
"Warm!" repeated Nattie, her lips curving in an amused smile, for she had a shawl over her shoulders, and was nevertheless slightly chilly. "I don't perceive it, I am sure."
"I—I beg pardon—but I've been walking, you know," Quimby said nervously. "But I—I was about to ask—I—I beg pardon—but you have not—not" desperately, "really fallen in love with him, have you?"
Nattie's eyes danced with amusement, but her color deepened slightly too, as she replied,
"How could one fall in love with an invisible? why, that would be even less satisfactory than an ideal!"
Quimby's face brightened, and he recovered himself sufficiently to put away the red silk handkerchief.
