"Because you have such pretty shoulders," he replied seriously.

"What an idiotic reply to make!"

"Why? Don't you think you have?"

"What?"

"Pretty shoulders."

"I don't think anything about my shoulders!"

"You would if there was anything the matter with them," he insisted.

Once or twice he turned his handsome dark gaze on her while she was
dissecting her terrapin.

"They tip up a little--at the corners, don't they?" he inquired
anxiously. "Does it hurt?"

"Tip up? What tips up?" she demanded.

"Your eyes."

She swung around toward him, confused and exasperated; but no
seriousness was proof against the delighted malice in Dysart's face; and
she laughed a little, and laughed again when he did. And she thought
that he was, perhaps, the handsomest man she had ever seen. All
débutantes did.