Poor Samuel was in an agony of horror. “I—I—really—” he stammered. “I didn't mean it—I wouldn't for the world—-”
He stopped, utterly at a loss; and Miss Wygant kept her merciless gaze upon him. “Am I so very beautiful?” she asked.
This startled Samuel into lifting his eyes. He stared at her, transfixed; and at last he whispered, faintly, “Yes.”
“Tell me about it,” she said, and her look shook him to the depths of his soul.
He stood there, trembling; he could feel the blood pouring in a warm flood about his throat and neck. “Tell me,” she said again.
“You—you are more beautiful than anyone I have ever seen,” he panted.
“You are not used to women, Samuel!”
“No,” said he. “I'm just a country boy.”
She stood waiting for him to continue. “The girls there”—he whispered—“they are pretty—but you—you—-”
And then suddenly the words came to him. “You are like a princess!” he cried.