letting herself be looked at. Having been examined, she smiled gently, a smile that was faintly tinged with shyness. Flying suddenly to the opposite extreme, she burst out laughing and, holding on with both hands to the knotted trunk, leaned backwards. Her hat fell off, her hair came undone. She sat up again, looking wilder than ever. M. Hervart thought that she was going to run away, like Galatea; but there was no willow tree.
"I don't care," she said as M. Hervart handed her the hat; "my hair will have to stay down. It's all right like that. Pins don't hold on my head."
"Pins," said M. Hervart, "pins rarely do hold on women's heads."
She smiled without answering and certainly without understanding. She was smiling a great deal this morning, M. Hervart thought.
"But her smile is so sweet that I should never get tired of it. Come now, I'll tell her that...."
"I love your smile. It's so sweet that I should never get tired of it."
"As sweet as that? That's because it's so new. I don't smile much generally."
