She knew that her gown was provincial, knew that she lacked the "dash" he admired in women; and from the first she had been mystified by a love which could, while still passionately desiring her, wish her different in so many ways.

"I'd like him to be proud of me, but I suppose he never will be," she thought dejectedly, "and yet he fell in love with me just as I was, and he did not fall in love with any of the dashing women he knows," she added quickly, consoled by the reflection.

"And of course in a few things I wish him different, too.

I wish he wasn't so careless.

He is so careless that I shall have to be twice as careful, I shall have to look after him all the time.