Jean was puzzled. "Miss Devereux isn't pretty. She's too old. Aunt Marie says she is fifty."
"Oh, I see. But I mean Miss Evelyn Devereux. I say, Jean, don't you go about talking Of Miss Devereux as fifty years old. She wouldn't like it."
"Aunt Marie said so."
"You needn't quote Aunt Marie. Come—who is prettier in your estimation than Miss Evelyn Devereux?"
The answer was delayed. Jean seemed to be weighing the matter. She said at length composedly:
"You!"
Jem did laugh. He had a pleasant musical laugh, round and full like his voice. It rang out now, not loudly but irresistibly. Jem held on to a bough, and bent with his merriment; while his eyes danced, and fairly ran over with tears of fun.
"Jean, you are past everything. It's the best compliment I ever had in my life," cried Jem, nearly convulsed.
"It's true," sturdily answered Jean.
Jem mastered himself, though every muscle in his face was twitching yet.