"Don't let
them see you notice them--but I think it RUDE!"
They were carelessly joyous and not strictly well-bred youths,
who were taking a holiday together, and their rudeness was quite
unintentional and without guile. They merely stared and obviously
muttered comments to each other as they passed, each giving
the hasty, unconscious touch to his young moustache, which is the
automatic sign of pleasurable observation in the human male.
"If she had had companions of her own age she would have known
all about it long ago," Mademoiselle was thinking.
Her intelligent view of such circumstances was that the simple
fact they arose from could--with perfect taste--only be treated
simply. It was a mere fact; therefore, why be prudish and affected
about it.
"They did not intend any rudeness," she said, after they had gone
by. "They are not much more than boys and not perfectly behaved.
People often stare when they see a very pretty girl. I am afraid
I do it myself. You are very pretty," quite calmly, and as one
speaking without prejudice.
Robin turned and looked at her, and the colour, which was like a
Jacqueminot rose, flooded her face. She was at the flushing age.
Her gaze was interested, speculative, and a shade startled--merely
a shade.
"Oh," she said briefly--not in exclamation exactly, but in a sort
of acceptance. Then she looked straight before her and went on
walking, with the lovely, slightly swaying, buoyant step which in
itself drew attracted eyes after her.
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