“Oh no; Ursula takes after her father’s family. The Mopiuses were always famous for their delicate skins.”
“Ah!” said Otto, shifting on his chair. “Well, I am a plain man; perhaps not much a judge of beauty—”
“Oh, don’t say that,” interposed the lady, smiling.
“But I know when I like a face, Miss Mopius. I think an honest face is of more importance than mere good looks.”
“Oh, of course,” assented the lady, reddening.
“I mean in a man. I trust, Miss Mopius, that you have no aversion to my face—or me.”
The lady tittered, and buried her nose in her bouquet.
“I wish I could flatter myself you even liked me. But that’s nonsense. I’m a conceited fool.”
“I do,” whispered the spinster, with downcast eyes—“a little.”
Otto got up and warmly clasped her disengaged hand.