He had got the habit, with his growing ease in her presence, of walking up and down the room, while she sat, with her arms lifted and clasped above her head, forgetful of everything but the things they were saying, and followed him with her eyes. As he turned about in his walk, he saw how pretty she was, with her slender form cased in the black silk she wore, and thrown into full relief by the lifted arms; he saw the little hands knit above her head, and white as flowers on her dark hair. Her eyes were very bright, and her soft lips, small and fine, were red.
He faltered, and lost the thread of his speech. “I forgot what I was going to say!”
She took down her hands to clasp them over her laughing face a moment. “And I don't remember what you were saying!” They both laughed a long time at this; it seemed incomparably droll, and they became better comrades.
They spent the rest of the evening in laughing and joking.
“I didn't know you were so fond of laughing,” he said, when he went away.
“And I always supposed you were very solemn,” she replied.
This again seemed the drollest thing in the world. “Well, I always was,” he said.
“And I don't know when I've laughed so much before!” She stood at the head of the stairs, and held her lamp up for him to find his way down.
Again looking back, he saw her in the undefended grace that had bewildered him before.
When he came next they met very seriously, but before the evening was past they were laughing together; and so it happened now whenever he came. They both said how strange it was that laughing with any one seemed to make you feel so much better acquainted. She told of a girl at school that she had always disliked till one day something made them laugh, and after that they became the greatest friends.