But I am speaking of real beauty, the beauty of the rose, the freshness that you cannot define, that holds fragrance, a something that you love, that you feel even more than you see." She thought of a school friend of hers, Louise Caldwell, a tall, statuesque beauty, with whom another friend, Norman Wentworth, was in love, and she wondered if Keith would think her such a beauty as he described.
"She must be sweet," he went on, thinking to himself for her benefit.

"I cannot define that either, but you know what I mean ?" She decided mentally that Louise Caldwell would not fill his measure.
"It is something that only some girls have in common with some flowers--violets, for instance." "Oh, I don't care for sweet girls very much," she said, thinking of another schoolmate whom the girls used to call _eau sucre_.
"You do," he said positively.

"I am not talking of that kind.

It is womanliness and gentleness, fragrance, warmth, beauty, everything." "Oh, yes.

That kind ?" she said acquiescingly.