And her dress was the dress for that room, being of blue and
white, too; and the high colour in her cheeks was far from interfering
with the general harmony of things--George saw with dismay that she
was prettier than ever, and naturally he missed the reassurance he
might have felt had he been able to guess that Lucy, on her part, was
finding him better looking than ever. For, however unusual the scope
of George's pride, vanity of beauty was not included; he did not think
about his looks.
"What's wrong, George?" she asked softly.
"What do you mean: 'What's wrong?"
"You're awfully upset about something. Didn't you get though your
examination all right?"
"Certainly I did. What makes you think anything's 'wrong' with me?"
"You do look pale, as papa said, and it seemed to me that the way you
talked sounded--well, a little confused."
"Confused'! I said I didn't care to smoke. What in the world is
confused about that?"
"Nothing. But--"
"See here!" George stepped close to her. "Are you glad to see me?"
"You needn't be so fierce about it!" Lucy protested, laughing at his
dramatic intensity.
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