"No; not the prettiest. I know another that, to me at least, is far more beautiful."
He is looking straight before him, apparently at nothing, and to my attentive ear there is something hidden in his tone that renders me uneasy for the brilliant future I have mapped out for my sister.
"You have been so much in the world," I say, with some dejection, "and of course in London and Paris and all the large cities one sees many charming faces from time to time. I should have remembered that. I suppose, away from this little village, Dora's face would be but one in a crowd."
"It was not in London or Paris, or any large city I saw the face of which I speak. It was in a neighborhood as small—yes, quite as small as this. The owner of it was a mere child—a little country-girl, knowing nothing of the busy world outside her home, but I shall never again see any one so altogether sweet and lovable."
"What was she like?" I ask, curiously. I am not so uneasy as I was. If only a child she cannot, of course, interfere with Dora. "Describe her to me?"
"What is she like, you mean. She is still in the land of the living. Describe her I don't believe I could," says my companion, with a light laugh. "If I gave you her exact photograph in words, I dare say I would call down your scorn on my benighted taste. Who ever grew rapturous over a description? If you cross-examine me about her charms, without doubt I shall fall through. To my way of thinking beauty does not lie in features, in hair, or eyes, or mouth. It is there, without one's knowing why; a look, an expression, a smile, all go to make up the indescribable something that is perfection."
"You speak of her as though she were a woman. I don't believe she is a child at all," I say, with a pout.
"She is the greatest child I ever met. But tell me—-" Then, breaking off suddenly, and turning to me, "By the bye," he says, "what may I call you? Miss Vernon is too formal, and Miss Phyllis I detest."
"Yes," return I, laughing, "it reminds me of Martha. You may call me Phyllis if you like."
"Thank you; I shall like it very much. Apropos of photographs, then, a moment ago, Phyllis, did you ever sit for your portrait?" He is looking at me as he speaks, as though desirous of photographing me upon his brain without further loss of time.