She looked like herself, only much prettier. Yes, and a little
older, perhaps. Her pink dotted mull was easily recognizable, though
it had taken on a certain ethereally chic quality--as if a rosy
cloud had been manipulated by French fingers. Her hair was a soft,
bright, curling triumph. And when she moved she was graceful as a
swaying flower stem.
As Missy watched this radiant being which was herself she could see
that she was as gracious and sweet-mannered as she was beautiful;
perhaps a bit dignified and reserved, but that is always fitting.
No wonder the other girls and the boys gathered round her,
captivated. All the boys were eager to dance with her, and when she
danced she reminded you of a swaying lily. Most often her partner
was Raymond himself. Raymond danced well too. And he was the
handsomest boy at his party. He had blonde hair and deep, soft black
eyes like his father, who was the handsomest as well as the richest
man in Cherryvale. And he liked her, for last year, their first year
in high school, he used to study the Latin lesson with her and wait
for her after school and carry her books home for her.
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