Sitting down, you might almost take me for a tall girl, and the way my
gown was made didn't show that one shoulder is a little higher than the
other. Di designed the dress.

I thought, if I wasn't pretty, I did look interesting, and original. I
looked as if I could _think_ of things; and as if I could feel.

And I was feeling. I was wondering why he had been so good to me lately,
unless he cared. Of course it might be for Di's sake; but I am not so
queer-looking that no man could ever be fascinated by me.

They say pity is akin to love. Perhaps he had begun by pitying me,
because Di has everything and I nothing; and then, afterwards, he had
found out that I was intelligent and sympathetic.

He sat by me and didn't speak at first. Just then Di passed the
far-away, open door of the ballroom, dancing with Lord Robert West, the
Duke of Glasgow's brother.

"Thank you so much for the book," I said.

(He had sent me a book that morning--one he'd heard me say I wanted.)

He didn't seem to hear, and then he turned suddenly, with one of his
nice smiles. I always think he has the nicest smile in the world: and
certainly he has the nicest voice. His eyes looked very kind, and a
little sad. I willed him hard to love me.

"It made me happy to get it," I went on.