My Ideal Girl

Ladies' Mirror, Volume 4, Issue 10, 1 April 1926, Page 59

My Ideal Girl

"DEAUTIFUL? Why, of course; all perfect girls are beautiful. Dark, I sec her, with eyes full of laughter, and a lithe young body. But she need not be brilliantly athletic, though fit she must be— fit to tramp the downs in the rain with me, to swim in cool seas, to ride over the moors. She will love the country, my ideal girl. I see her more often in tweeds than in evening clothes. But she will not be a fool. Her conversation will be worth listening to, she will love books and pictures and music and old furniture, though she will be far removed from a blue-stocking—did I not say she was beautiful? She will love the good things of life, without needing to be constantly surrounded by luxury. In fact, she will rather like roughing it sometimes. For she will be a friend, is well as a lover. She will be quick and responsive; quick to feel a mood, ready with a sudden smile. She will know the meaning of hospitality, and she will

not believe that good manners are a relic of the past. She will like my men friends, and she will love doing things on the spur of the moment, and she will not be fussy about domestic details. She would sooner go with me in a rusty “tramp” to the Spice Islands than to Waitomo in a Rolls-Royce. Above all, she will be alive. Alive from dawn to dark. She will live gladly, like Robert Louis Stevenson, and, like him, be ready to face death with a laugh. I often imagine her, my ideal girl I see her coming to meet me, swinging down the road with a spaniel at her heels. I think of the little foolishnesses just between us two I see her silting in the evening, the soft lamp-light on her dark head, hear her laughing, or singing gay little songs. Sometimes —ah, sometimes— l can almost feel her lips on mine. . . Perfect pal, and perfect lover. . . Does she exist? I do nor know. I have never met her yet. But one day, perhaps, one day . . .