Cinderella forgot herself a little. "Yes, I know," she said, "but where——"
"How should you know?" demanded the second sister sharply.
Cinderella hastened to say, "I mean—tell me more about her."
It was the first sister's turn to speak. "We could never describe her," she said. "Her eyes—they were like certain bright flowers shining in the dusk …"
"Oh, were they!" cried Cinderella softly.
And now the second sister said, "And her form—it was like a young poplar tree in the wind …"
"Oh, how good of you to tell me!" cried Cinderella.
The first sister could scarcely wait to say, "And her dress—it was like dew on the grass!"
Cinderella brought her hands together with rapture. "Was it truly?" she asked.
"Quite like it," said the first sister. "And her hair and cheeks—they were—they were like yours, poor Cinderella, only of course much more beautiful!"