fire, and in which finally Margaret Elizabeth seeks consolation by
relating to Uncle Bob her adventure in the park._


"No, she is not regularly beautiful," remarked Dr. Prue in her
diagnostician manner as she poured her father's second cup of coffee,
"but there is much that is captivating about her. Her hair grows
prettily on her forehead, the firmness of her chin, the line of her lips
in repose----"

"Mercy on us! You talk like a novel," interrupted Uncle Bob, who was
longing to get in an oar. "Now I like her best when she laughs."

"But I was speaking of her face in repose."

"And any way," persisted Uncle Bob, "if she isn't a beauty, I don't know
what you call it. She has the witchingest ways!"

"We were speaking of features, not ways. If you dissect her----"

"Good Heavens, Prue! Find another word."

"If you dissect her," the doctor repeated firmly, "you will find nothing
remarkable in her separate features."

"But I insist," Uncle Bob spoke in a loud tone, and brought his fist
down so emphatically his coffee spilled over into the saucer, "that
beauty is a complex thing consisting of ways as well as features."
The sentence was concluded in a milder tone, owing to the coffee.