"Is she so ... pretty?"
Dick stopped to consider this. "Why, yes, I reckon she is pretty, though I hadn't thought of it before. You see, pretty ain't just the word. She's a queen. That is, she looks like a queen ought to but don't. Take her walk for instance: she steps out like as if in another moment she might fly."
"That doesn't mean anything. It's almost silly," replied the downright Miss Underwood, not without a tinge of spite.
"It means something to me. I'm trying to give you a picture of her. But you'd have to see her to understand. When she's around mean and little things crawl out of your mind. She's on the level and square and fine—a thoroughbred if there ever was one."
"I believe you're in love with her, too."
The young man found himself blushing. "Now don't get to imagining foolishness. Miss Valdés hates the ground I walk on. She thinks I'm the limit, and she hasn't forgotten to tell me so."
"Which, of course, makes you fonder of her," scoffed Miss Underwood. "Does she hate the ground that Don Manuel walks on?"
"Now you've got me. I go to the foot of the class, because I don't know."
"But you wish you did," she flung at him, with a swift side glance.
"Guessing again, Miss Kate. I'll sure report you if you waste the State's time on such foolishness," he threatened gaily.