Jenny Walters had been unusually kindly and gracious in her manner that evening, and her very voice had less than its accustomed sharpness; but her natural disposition broke out a little, some minutes later, while she was talking with Annie Foster. Said she,—
"I've wanted so much to get acquainted with you."
"With me?"
"Yes: I've seen you in church, and I've heard you talked about, and I wanted to find out for myself."
"Find out what?" asked Annie a little soberly.
"Why, you see, I don't believe it's possible for any girl to be as sweet as you look. I couldn't, I know. I've been trying these two days, and I'm nearly worn out."
Annie's eyes opened wide with surprise; and she laughed merrily, as she answered,—
"What can you mean! I'm glad enough if my face doesn't tell tales of me."
"But mine does," said Jenny. "And then I'm so sure to tell all the rest with my tongue. I do wish I knew what were your faults."
"My faults? What for?"