I think my nose is trying to jump off and run away." The clay having been well applied she began surveying herself with a little hand mirror which she had carried in the pocket of her riding coat.
"What a fright I am!" she mused.
"But you are the best girl in the world." "Don't waste your pretty talk on me now.

I can't enjoy it--my nose aches so.

I'd rather you'd tell me when--when it is easier for you to say it." "We don't see each other very often." "If you will come out on this road next Saturday afternoon I will ride until I find you and then we can have another talk." "All right.

I'll be here at four-thirty and I'll be thinking about it every day until then." "My nose feels better now," she said presently and added: "You might tell me a little more if you want to." "I love you even when you have ceased to be beautiful," I said with the ardor of the young.
"That is grand! You know old age will sting us by and by, Bart," she answered with a sigh and in a tone of womanly wisdom.
We were nearing the village.

She wiped the mud from her prodigious nose and I wet her handkerchief in a pool of water and helped her to wash it.
Soon we saw two men approaching us in the road.