"I've been all wrong about you, Bella," she confessed. "I know you're
not really old and ugly and cross at all. Let me touch your face."
Bella, awkward and flushed, had no choice but to submit to the flick
of the light, young fingers. "I'm learning the touch of the blind,"
Sylvie boasted. "Now, listen--isn't this right? You have thick,
straight eyebrows and deep-set eyes; are they blue or brown, Bella,
or bright gray?"
"They're gray," said Pete.
Hugh was watching from eyes sunk in a nervous, pallid face. He had
come in from his traps in the midst of Sylvie's experiment.
"And she has a nice, straight, strong, short nose, and a mouth that
she holds too tight. Loosen your mouth, Bella; it might be very sweet
if you gave it a chance. And she has a sharp chin--not pretty, your
chin, but--look! If you'd soften your hair, pull it over your ears
and forehead--Why do you brush it back that way? It _must_ be
unbecoming. And, Bella, it's curly, or would be with a little freedom.
What color is your hair?"
"Gray--like my eyes," said Bella, scarlet now, and trying to draw
herself away.
"Is it really gray, Pete? Tell me the truth, if you can."
"Her hair is a very light brown," said Pete, flushed as scarlet now
as Bella; "sort of a grayish brown; you wouldn't notice any gray
hairs, hardly.
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