The telephone rang just as he spoke, and Ann Lisbeth went to answer it. I was surprised at the tone of his voice, for Alfred very rarely pays me compliments, and never one anything like this before. I was surprised still more at myself as I caught at this opportunity for a sincere, masculine compliment.
"Alfred," I said quickly, half afraid that Ann Lisbeth would come back before I could make him say what I longed to hear, "Alfred, do you think I'm good-looking?"
I had the grace to blush as I said it, but the blush was not for Alfred. I felt that he knew the real question in my mind was, "Do you suppose Richard Chalmers thought I was good-looking that day we sat on the old stone wall by the orchard gate?"
But Alfred was simple and sincere always, and he saw in my question only the query any vain girl might put to a close friend. And into his eyes darted a quick look of pain and confusion. I wondered if my vanity lowered his ideal of me.
"You evidently have no knowledge of what I do think of you—else you wouldn't ask such a silly question," he answered gravely.
"I beg your pardon if—if I have offended you by my foolish talk, but I was only trying to make you say something pretty to me—you never do, you know." I was genuinely confused, myself, now.
"I thought 'pretty things' were unnecessary between you and me, Ann," he answered again, more gravely still.
"Every woman likes them," I said, trying to relieve the tension by my tone of lightness.
"Then I can gratify you—if that's what you want. I think—that is, to me you are the most beautiful woman in the world!"
I was so stunned at his unexpected reply and the entirely new look on his face as he made it that I should have betrayed the thoughts which came surging to my mind if Ann Lisbeth had not rejoined us then with a commonplace remark about my taking a heavy coat along with me if I decided to go with Alfred.