David spent most of that minute looking with a thrill--much the sort he felt when he was pleased with his sketches--into a pair of blue eyes that smiled at him out of the prettiest, sweetest, kindest face he thought he had ever seen. And it was very pretty and sweet and kind just then, as she looked at him with the friendliness he always inspired. Framing the face was a lot of wavy brown hair with golden lights dancing in it, her neck and shoulders were slender but softly rounded, the figure hinted at by the soft clinging gown was trim and girlish. But those were details that he drank in later. He heaved a sigh, so patently one of content with his lot that she laughed outright. To laugh well is a gift from the gods. "You're not a bit as I thought you would be." "How did you think I should be?" stammered David, trying to grasp the fact that this dainty creature had been thinking of him at all. "Why, grim and haughty and altogether overwhelming. You know, you're supposed to be rather wonderful." David felt anxiously for his head. "Does it expand so easily?" "I just wanted to be sure it was still there. I can see it would be easy to lose it." She laughed again. It is probable that they talked a polite amount with their respective neighbors. But if so, they regarded it as untimely interruption of the real business of the evening. It was amazing the number of things they found to discuss and they discussed them so earnestly and withal, as it seemed to them, so wittily and wisely that they were blissfully unaware of the significant smiles going around the table. When the coffee was served, David surveyed his cup stupidly. "Does it strike you," he inquired, "that they've hurried this dinner out of all reason?" "It has been the usual length, I believe." "Funny--I've a hazy recollection of fish--and of an ice just now--but entree and salad and the rest are a total blank." "Very funny!" she agreed. "But the queerest of all--" He broke off, with a laugh that did not quite reach his eyes. "Yes?" she queried provocatively, knowing that one of his daring bits was coming. "The queerest of all," he repeated, "is that you should turn out to be--_you_." "No queerer than--" Then she broke off, with a laugh that did reach her eyes. The next afternoon they played golf. It was at the fifth tee that they abandoned the last pretense of formality. She topped her drive wretchedly; the ball rolled a scant ten feet. "Oh, David!" she cried. "Did you ever see anything so _awful_?" "Many times," answered David, who was looking at her, not at the ball. "I've often wondered," he mused raptly, "how 'David' would sound, set to music." He was rewarded by her rippling, musical laugh. "You say the absurdest things--and the nicest."