“I know men so often say things when they mean nothing at all,” Lily said again. “Perhaps he didn't mean anything. I know he has gone home with Agnes Sears several times, and he has talked to her a good deal when we have been at parties. Do you think she is pretty, Maria?”
“Yes, I think she is quite pretty,” replied Maria.
“Do you think—she is better-looking than—I am?” asked Lily, feebly.
“No, of course I don't,” said Maria. “You are a perfect beauty.”
“Oh, Maria, do you think so?”
“Of course I do! You know it yourself as well as I do.”
“No, honest, I am never quite sure, Maria. Sometimes it does seem to me when I am dressed up that I am really better-looking than some girls, but I am never quite sure that it isn't because it is I who am looking at myself. A girl wants to think she is pretty, you know, Maria, especially if she wants anybody to like her, and I can't ever tell.”
“Well, you can rest easy about that,” said Maria. “You are a perfect beauty. There isn't a girl in Amity to compare with you. You needn't have any doubt at all.”
An expression of quite innocent and naïve vanity overspread Lily's charming face. She cast a glance at herself in a glass which hung on the opposite wall, and smiled as a child might have done at her own reflection. “Do you think this green dress is becoming to me?” said she.
“Very.”