"Do you know," he said, partly to himself, "that when I first set eyes on you, Japonette, I knew I had never seen anything half as beautiful."
"You didn't think so long," she returned, laughing. "Christine is goddess of beauty just now."
"I have always thought so," he repeated.
"Then—why don't you ever say it to me?"
His smile changed a little.
"What would be the use of my telling you that you are beautiful?"
"Use?"
"What good would it do for me to become sentimental over your beauty?"
"Lots of good—to me, Jim. You can't tell a girl too often that she is pretty—when you really think so.... And I almost believe you do think so." She glanced at him sideways, laughed a little, then her blue eyes wandered and she leaned back, pensive, twisting a green oak leaf between idle fingers.
"Do you know," he said after a moment, "that, just now, you are like Japonette again. I haven't seen you so like the real Japonette for a long while."