"I don't believe it," observed Georgy tartly. "She is too pale, and her eyes are too big: then she is such a solemn little thing. Don't you like golden hair best, Floyd?"
"Yes."
"And blue eyes?"
"Well, I don't know. But yes, I do," I added, meeting hers.
"Do you really think that Helen will grow up to be beautiful?" she pleaded after her momentary triumph.
"Yes, I certainly do," I answered stubbornly.
"We shall see," she exclaimed, tossing her head.
"Don't think," said I, "that I believe that she will be more beautiful than you, Georgy. I don't imagine any girl could be that, but—"
"Well, what else?" she asked, smiling and dimpling.
"But think of something besides beauty," I ventured humbly. "'Tis so poor a preparation for a woman's life, Georgy, to care merely for outside loveliness. I want you to pray for a sweet, loving, grateful nature, Georgy—not to nurse bad, revengeful thoughts."