She had the divinest
straight nose, tip-tilted the faintest, most alluring trifle, and a dimple
cleft her chin, "the deadliest maelstrom in the world!" He thrilled
through and through. He had been only vaguely conscious of the dimple in
the night. It was not until he saw her by daylight that he really knew it
was there.
The village hummed with life before them. They walked through shimmering
airs, sweeter to breathe than nectar is to drink. She caught a butterfly,
basking on a jimson weed, and, before she let it go, held it out to him in
her hand. It was a white butterfly. He asked which was the butterfly.
"Bravo!" she said, tossing the captive craft above their heads and
watching the small sails catch the breeze; "And so you can make little
flatteries in the morning, too. It is another courtesy you should be
having from me, if it weren't for the dustiness of it. Wait till we come
to the board walk."
She had some big, pink roses at her waist. "In the meantime," he answered,
indicating these, "I know very well a lad that would be blithe to accept a
pretty token of any lady's high esteem."
"But you have one, already, a very beautiful one." She gave him a genial
up-and-down glance from head to foot, half quizzical, but so quick he
almost missed it. And then he was glad he had found the straw hat with the
youthful ribbon, and all his other festal vestures.
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