"Well?" I responded, which was not courteous.
"Do you find yourself prettier than yesterday?"
"Oh! Much!" I answered, with conviction.
After all, there are compensations in the possession of a pointed face, decorated with big dark eyes, and a delightful mouth. My nose has never pleased me; but always, when I am gloomiest, my hair affords me consolation. Sarah makes a household pet of it, and cares for it devotedly. There's heaps of it. So much, that it makes my head ache to wear it piled high. So it generally lies in two long braids across the sheets.
"Father," I asked, "what color is my hair?"
He leaned forward and lifted one of the braids.
"Exactly the color of cloudy amber," he answered.
I pondered on this for a time, and then: "That," I said, "sounds very nice—but improbable."
We smiled at one another, but suddenly the laughter left his eyes, and he bent to kiss my forehead, perhaps to hide his face.
"You grow more lovely every day, Mavis," he said, gravely.