The Charm School
"Charm," she opined, "is the refinement of the soul," and she felt she might almost be quoting Emerson or the Psalms.
"Oh, I'm all right, then," answered Bevans, cheerfully. "I don't stick up for my manners, and I know my looks are fierce—"
"Fierce!" exclaimed his hostess. "I should have thought you would be above pretending not to know you are extremely handsome."
Bevans wriggled. "Don't let's talk about it," he said. "I believe it's the only thing in the world it embarrasses me to speak of. I hate looking like this; it's a great disadvantage; it makes every one distrust me, particularly employers. I'd give anything in the world for a good ugly mug like David's—and the joke of it is, he isn't a bit more honest and serious than I am—only every one thinks he must be."
"Mr. Stewart has a very aristocratic kind of ugliness," said Mrs. Rolles, reprovingly.
"But to go back to the question of my soul," Bevans went on. "I'd match souls with any one—even some of our oldest families'—even Susie's, which is, I am sure, an attractive mauve trifle."
"It isn't necessary to be profane," said Mrs. Rolles.
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