It was on the tip of her tongue to disclaim, but she checked herself. "She's different from what I expected. No airs. And she looks sensible. Is she?"
"I think so."
"Yes, I think so, too. She dresses very simply. I was prepared to be reduced to a condition of helpless feminine envy by her clothes. As it is, I feel quite of the same clay."
"You don't need to envy anybody's clothes. That white dress looks good to me. I never saw you looking better."
The rich blood crept up under her tanned cheeks. Such compliments were rare in her life. Casey himself seldom paid them. Frank friendship was very well; but now and then, womanlike, she longed for such current coin of courtesy.
"Really, Casey?"
"Of course," he assured her. "You know how to wear clothes. And you know you look particularly well in white. I've told you so before."
"Once."
"Half a dozen times."
"No—once. I remember it very well, because you don't often notice what I have on. Perhaps that's lucky, too."