"But not quite so in daylight," murmured Fran wickedly, "as this morning?"
"Anyway," he answered desperately, "you look as I'd have you look—can you ask more than that, since I can't?"
"My chin is so sharp," she murmured.
"Yes," he said, softly feeling the warm little fingers, one by one, as if to make sure all were there. "That's the way I like it—sharp."
"And I'm so ridiculously thin—"
"You're nothing like so thin as when you first came to Littleburg," he declared. "I've noticed how you are—have been—I mean…"
"Filling out?" cried Fran gleefully. "Oh, yes, and I'm so glad you know, because since I've been wearing long dresses, I've been afraid you'd never find it out, and would always be thinking of me as you saw me at the beginning. But I am—yes—filling out."
"And your little feet, Fran—"
"Yes, I always had a small foot. But let's get off of this subject."
"Not until I say something about your smile—oh, Fran, that smile!"