It was at a dinner given by the Jim Blaisdells, whose guest she was.
Mrs. Jim introduced them.
"Shirley dear, this is our Davy Quentin. As a special favor—to each of you—I'm putting you together to-night. You have just a minute now to get acquainted." And Mrs. Jim fluttered away.
David spent most of that minute looking with a thrill—much the sort he felt when he was pleased with his sketches—into a pair of blue eyes that smiled at him out of the prettiest, sweetest, kindest face he thought he had ever seen. And it was very pretty and sweet and kind just then, as she looked at him with the friendliness he always inspired. Framing the face was a lot of wavy brown hair with golden lights dancing in it, her neck and shoulders were slender but softly rounded, the figure hinted at by the soft clinging gown was trim and girlish. But those were details that he drank in later.
He heaved a sigh, so patently one of content with his lot that she laughed outright. To laugh well is a gift from the gods.
"You're not a bit as I thought you would be."
"How did you think I should be?" stammered David, trying to grasp the fact that this dainty creature had been thinking of him at all.
"Why, grim and haughty and altogether overwhelming. You know, you're supposed to be rather wonderful."
David felt anxiously for his head.
"Does it expand so easily?"
"I just wanted to be sure it was still there. I can see it would be easy to lose it."