"Well—you know—now you have some little odds and ends of features—not bad—no, not even half bad, for that matter. I can see thousands of miles into your eyes—there's a fire smouldering away back in there —it's all smoky and mysterious after you go the first few thousand miles—but, I don't know—I believe the smile is needed, Nance. Poor child, I tell you this as a friend, for your own good—it seems to make a fine big perfection out of a lot of little imperfections that are only fairly satisfactory."
She smiled again, brushing an escaped lock of hair to its home.
"Really, Nance, no one could guess that mouth till it melts."
"I see—now I shall be going about with an endless, sickening grin. It will come to that—doubtless I shall be murdered for it—people that do grin that way always make me feel like murder."
"And they could never guess your eyes until the little smile runs up to light their chandeliers."
"Dear me!—Like a janitor!"
"—or the chin, until the little smile does curly things all around it——"
"There, now—calm yourself—the doctor will be here presently—and you know, you're among friends——"
"—or the face itself until those little pink ripples get to chasing each other up to hide in your hair, as they are now. You know you're blushing, Nance, so stop it. Remember, it's when you smile; remember, also, that smiles are born, not made. It's a long time since I've seen you, Nance."
"Two years—we didn't come here last summer, you know."