"I suppose so," grudgingly.
"Then I shall be an awfully nice old woman; I shouldn't like to be cross and ugly. I don't like ugly people, and there are so many going about loose. I am always so glad I like my father's face."
"Why?"
"Because I have to see it every, every day. Have you anybody whose face you like?"
"No; I haven't."
"What a pity! I wonder if you like mine—or perhaps you would like father's. It does seem a shame you shouldn't have somebody."
"I do very well without."
"Oh no, I'm sure you don't," replied Sophy with deep concern. "You may do somehow, but you can't do well."
"What's your father like?" asked Mr. Waldron, amused in spite of himself.
"My father's like a song," returned Sophy, as though she had given the subject much reflection.