that had the writer attended a little more to the spelling-book, and a little less to the accumulation of diamond rings, it might have been a very wise proceeding. But perhaps
"Meat me at the train," was sufficiently intelligible for all purposes.
"What was it about your mind's eye?" Nattie asked over the wire, at the first opportunity.
"C" was again on the alert, without being called, for the answer came, after a moment, just long enough for him to cross the room, perhaps.
"As I was saying, in the eye aforesaid, me thinks I see a tall slim young lady with blue eyes and light hair, and dimples that come into her cheeks when I stupidly betray my sex."
As "C" said this, Nattie glanced into the glass just over her head at the reflection of her face. A face whose expression was its charm; that never could be called pretty, but that nevertheless suggested a possibility—only a possibility, of being handsome. For there is a vast difference between pretty and handsome. Pretty people seldom know very much; but to be handsome, a person must have brains; an inner as well as an outer beauty.
"How fortunate it is you are not near enough to be disenchanted!" Nattie replied to "C." "Your
