She smiled again, brushing an escaped lock of hair to its home.

"Really, Nance, no one could guess that mouth till it melts."

"I see--now I shall be going about with an endless, sickening grin. It
will come to that--doubtless I shall be murdered for it--people that do
grin that way always make _me_ feel like murder."

"And they could never guess your eyes until the little smile runs up to
light their chandeliers."

"Dear me!--Like a janitor!"

"--or the chin, until the little smile does curly things all around
it--"

"There, now--calm yourself--the doctor will be here presently--and you
know, you're among friends--"

"--or the face itself until those little pink ripples get to chasing each
other up to hide in your hair, as they are now. You know you're blushing,
Nance, so stop it. Remember, it's when you smile; remember, also, that
smiles are born, not made. It's a long time since I've seen you, Nance."

"Two years--we didn't come here last summer, you know."

"But you've aged--you're twice the woman you were--so, on the whole, I'm
not in the least disappointed in you."