"You're wonderful, too, Lilly."
There had been scarcely any baby talk.
At three, it was "Zoe, are you happy to see mother this week-end?"
"Ees, ummie."
And then one day out of the pellucid sky of babyhood, in answer to this invariable query, it was:
"Yes, Lilly," so suddenly that something seemed to catch at her heartbeat, but after a pang she let it stand.
Let Lilly's Zoe dawn upon you through this rather typical conversation between them, the night before the graduation from grade school:
"Lilly, am I beautiful?"
"Why, yes, Zoe, so long as you remain fine and unspoiled by it. That is the rarest kind of loveliness—inner beauty."
"I don't mean that kind. Am I pretty—for boys to look at?"