“Yes, very pretty. Do you know _you_ look a little like her, only your hair is auburn, and hers was golden brown, while your eyes are blue and hers were a brownish gray.” “Do I? Am I like her? Am I pretty? Mr. Godfrey said I was,” she exclaimed, her face lighting up with a glow which made her, as I thought, the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. “You have spoken of Mr. Godfrey several times,” I said. “Where did you know him?” “Why, on the ship and in the cab, and in the church when his new mother was married, and everywhere,” she replied; and then, by dint of a few questions adroitly put, I heard nearly all she had to tell of Godfrey, who had stared at her in the cab, and kissed her flowers in church, and herself on shipboard. “But he’ll never do that again,” she said. “I told him it wasn’t proper, and he said he wouldn’t, until—until—” her face grew crimson as she continued,—“until, I could say I thought him a perfect gentleman, with no slang or nonsense, and then he is to kiss me again, but that will never be, I reckon.” She stuck up the toe of her little foot and looked demurely at it while she settled the kissing affair with so much gravity, and I,—well, my thoughts did leap into the future and then leaped back again when I remembered Alice Creighton and the proud girls at Schuyler Hill. As if divining something of my thoughts, Gertie asked abruptly: “Do you know Mr. Godfrey’s sisters? He told me he had two.” “Yes, I know them; they were my pupils last year, when their governess left suddenly,” I said; and she continued: “Are they pretty, and shall I ever see them?” I dare say she meant to ask if they would notice her, and as I knew they would not I gave her question another meaning, and replied: “They are almost always at church, and the Schuyler pew is the large square one in front. You will be sure to see them there.” “Yes, I am going next Sunday, but we must sit near the door, I suppose. Still, I shall see them come in, for I mean to be early, and I do hope Mr. Godfrey will be here by that time with the beautiful lady Edith.” Here was an opportunity I could not let slip, my woman’s curiosity was so strong, and so I said: “Is Mrs. Schuyler beautiful?” “Yes, I guess she is; the beautifullest woman I ever saw. Why, she looked like a queen the morning she was married, and more like his daughter than his wife.” “Have you seen her often? Were you near her in church?” I asked in some surprise, unable to reconcile her statement of the new Mrs. Schuyler’s beauty, with a rumor which had reached me in a roundabout way concerning her age and personal appearance. “Yes, I was very near her in church and threw her some flowers, and I saw her many times at Oakwood, in the grounds where she walked in her pretty white dresses. I did not speak to her, you know. I was some ways off, but I could see how handsome she was, and everybody said so, too.”