Those girls you bowed to over there are pretty enough to be Gibson girls, just stepped out of a magazine; and so far--_you_ are the only man I have met." "Well," he said after a moment's waiting, "you haven't given me your opinion of _me_." There was a quizzical twinkle in his eye, which Mary, intent upon her beloved ice-cream, did not see.

Her honest little face was perfectly serious as she replied, "Oh, _you_,--you're like Marse Phil and Marse Chan and those men in Thomas Nelson Page's stones of 'Ole Virginia,' I love those stories, don't you?
Especially the one about 'Meh Lady.' Of course I know that everybody in the South can't be as nice as they are, but whenever I think of Kentucky and Virginia I think of people like that." Such a broad compliment was more than Rob was prepared for.

An embarrassed flush actually crept over his handsome face.

Joyce, glancing up, saw it and laughed.
"Mary is as honest as the father of his country himself," she said.
"I'll warn you now.

She'll always tell exactly what she thinks." "Now, Joyce," began Mary, indignantly, "you know I don't tell everything I think.