"I say, Betty, you're absolutely prettier than ever," her brother
exclaimed, holding her a little off from him and surveying her critically;
and then he seemed to remember his friend's existence, and, turning toward
him, announced proudly:
"My sister Bertha."
Jack was standing up now and thinking how lovely her eyes were just at
that instant when they were meeting his for the first time, thinking much
else too. Thinking that Monday was only two days away (hang it!); thinking
that such a smile was never known before; thinking that he had _years_
ahead at college; thinking that the curl on her forehead was simply
distracting (whereas all other like curls were horrid); thinking that he
might cut college and--
"My chum, Jack Denham," Burnett continued, proving in the same instant how
rapidly the mind may work since his friend had compassed his encyclopedia
of sentiment and probability between the two halves of a formal
introduction.
"Oh, I'm very glad to meet you, Mr. Denham," she said, putting out her
hand--and he took and held it just long enough to realize that he really
was holding it, before she took it away to keep for her own again. "I've
often heard of you, and often wished I might know you."
"I'm awfully glad to hear you say that," he said, "and if I should have
the royal luck to be next to you at dinner, it doesn't seem to me that I
shall have the strength to keep from telling you why."
She clapped her hands at this, just as a very little girl might have done.
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