Kindness therefore becomes for us, by a quick turn of the glass that reflects the whole scene, the high pitch of the concert--a kindness that almost immediately filled the place, to the exclusion of everything else, with a familiar friendly voice, a brightness of good looks and good intentions, a constant though perhaps sometimes misapplied laugh, a superabundance almost of interest, inattention and movement.
The first thing the young man said was that he was tremendously glad she had written.

"I think it was most particularly nice of you." And this thought precisely seemed, as he spoke, a flower of the general bloom--as if the niceness he had brought in was so great that it straightway converted everything to its image.

"The only thing that upset me a little," he went on, "was your saying that before writing it you had so hesitated and waited.

I hope very much, you know, that you'll never do anything of that kind again.

If you've ever the slightest desire to see me--for no matter what reason, if there's ever the smallest thing of any sort that I can do for you, I promise you I shan't easily forgive you if you stand on ceremony.