rk. You could say nothing worse except to call me buxom. I know I am
not classic, or antique Etruscan, or Ptolemaic, but I don't think you
need tell me to my face that I am _paysanne_."

"Don't lose your temper, dear. If I told the truth, I should say that
your beauty is of that charming eclectic type which only America can
produce. Intelligence and fidelity shine in your deep blue eyes, and any
woman would give ten years of her life for your coloring, to say nothing
of your superbly tall figure."

"I feel a trifle better, but I can't quite forgive you for the round
face."

"If Miss Florence Moreland is still provoked, she may have revenge by
telling me exactly what she thinks of my personal appearance and
character as interpreted by my features."

"Mrs. Roswell Sanderson is most formal, but I assure her that if I
speak, it will be to tell the truth."

"Come, Florence, I am really in earnest, and I promise not to be angry.
I should so like to know exactly what you think of me."

"I think you are the dearest friend I ever had, and I don't intend to
lose you by criticism."

"Nonsense, Florence, I promise not to be angry, and I feel that it will
actually do me good."

"Well, if you will hear things quite as disagreeable as 'the round
face,' here goes. I shall begin with your eyes. I believe novelists call
them the lanterns of the soul. You have superb, dreamy, black eyes; eyes
to fill a woman with envy or a man with love,--but they are both
absent-minded and ambitious; they show a restless longing after
unattained hopes. In other words, they are dissatisfied and cold, but
from an artistic standpoint that only enhances their attractiveness."

"You horrid creature! But I promised to be quiet, so go on."

"So much for the eyes; now the nose. It is exquisitely moulded and
classic. I shall dismiss the nose as perfect."

"O, thank you so much."

"Now the mouth. It has a cupid's bow and it droops at the corners. I
like your mouth, but I think it also looks dissatisfied. An artist would
rave over it, but when his eyes fell on that transparently white
complexion, and that glossy hair so artistically knotted at the back, I
am sure he would think you were a creation of Phidias lost from the
Elgin rooms of the British Museum. If you did call me eclectic, I must
admit that your type is pure, unalloyed Greek; but I won't let you off
altogether, for I consider your figure a trifle too stubby. Does that
pay you up for 'the