"We are through with your mistakes, Beatrice. Did you know that you have some claims to beauty yourself?"
"What?" gasped Bee, so amazed that Mrs. Medulla laughed again.
"Am I telling secrets?" she asked.
"But, but I am not fair. My hair is dark, and my eyes are almost black."
"There are more kinds of beauty than one, Beatrice. Yours is the kind that will increase with years. The Ugly Duckling sort which develops into a beautiful Swan."
"Is it true?" asked the girl breathlessly. "No one ever told me that before. Aunt Annie used to say that my only claim to beauty lay in the expressiveness of my face."
"And in that very expressiveness lies the difficulty. When you are bright and happy you are at your best. Sparkle and animation give you a charm that is more than beauty of skin, or regularity of feature. Grief robs you of this; so, if for no other reason, you should strive to put unhappiness from you. Women who have been considered great beauties have not always had perfect features, or flawless complexions; but they held sway by grace of manner, and that indefinable thing called charm. You are of this class. I am telling you this, little girl, not to make you vain, but to give you confidence. Do you know why no one has told you this before?"
"No," replied Bee. "Why?"
"Because, while one feels it, there is a sort of carelessness in your dress that detracts from your appearance."
Bee flushed scarlet, and put up her hand quickly to adjust her twisted neck ribbon.