Harold slid timidly into the seat beside her without venturing to look at her further than to assure himself that she was a girl. He was girl-shy. As she continued to devote herself exclusively to her crossword puzzle and her dessert, he turned his head and glanced at her again. And this time his glance lingered. For, though he could see only her soft, curving neck, where the brown ringlets nestled, and her pretty profile, yet he could somehow sense that she was somebody wholly different from any kind of a girl he had ever met before. She made him feel warm inside. She seemed so nice, cozy and friendly.
Soon he was looking over her shoulder at the crossword puzzle she was so intent upon. Unconsciously his head drew nearer to her. She seemed to be groping for a solution of "19 vertical—a word for one you love." Harold's brow became knitted with thought in his effort to help her. Suddenly she turned her head toward him, grasped what he was doing and smiled pleasantly.
Harold, more at ease, volunteered, "I thinly I know the word for 19 vertical—"a name for one you love. It's 'sweetheart.'"
She shook her head.
"Darling!" he suggested.
That didn't seem to fit either.
"Dearest!" he cried triumphantly.
