"Yes, I know," says she, gazin' at the rug. "You—you've grown, haven't you?"
"Think so?" says I. "Maybe it's the cut-away coat."
"No," says she; "although that helps. But as we walked in I thought you seemed taller than I. Let's measure, here by the pier glass. Now, back to back. Well, if I ever! Look where your shoulders come!"
"No more than an inch or so," says I, gazin' sideways at the mirror; and then I lets slip, half under my breath, a sort of gaspy "Gee!"
"Why the 'Gee'?" says she, glancin' over her shoulder into the glass.
"Oh, I don't know," says I; "only I don't mind bein' grouped like this, not a bit."
"Pooh!" says she, but still holdin' the pose.
"Seems to me," says I, "that Cousin Eulalia is a slick describer. That Princess Charming business ain't so wide."
"Silly!" says she. "Come and sit down."
She was steerin' for the windowseat; but I picks out a cozy little high-backed davenport and, reachin' for one of her hands, swings her into that. "Just room for two here," says I.