But I don't see it, do you?
Of course you don't.

You think me too black, and small, and thin, and so I am.

Harold never told me I was pretty, and--I tell this in confidence, and you must never breathe it to any one--I have tried to wring a compliment from him so many times, but it's no use, I can't do it, he never understands anything, though he does sometimes say, when he brings me a bright rose: "Wear it, Maude; it will become your style." 'He never says you are pretty, either, and that is strange, for I think you have the loveliest and sweetest face I ever saw, except Gretchen's in the picture, you look like her; I saw it so plainly two years ago, when you were here one evening, and I spoke of it to father.

Who was she, I wonder?
Uncle Arthur does not talk much of her now, though I believe he kisses her every night and morning.

How much he thinks of you, and how much he has talked of _Cherry_ since his visit to you in May.