"I do want you to feel better, but that's not why I said it. And next time Fiona Bennet says you have big lips, tell her she's wrong. You have full lips."

"What's the difference?" She looked over at him patiently, her dark eyes serious.

Turner took a breath. "Well," he stalled. "Big lips are unattractive. Full lips are not."

"Oh." That seemed to satisfy her. "Fiona has thin lips."

"Full lips are much, much better than thin lips," Turner said emphatically. He quite liked this funny little girl and wanted her to feel better.

"Why?"

Turner offered up a silent apology to the gods of etiquette and propriety before he answered, "Full lips are better for kissing."

"Oh." Miranda blushed, and then she smiled. "Good."

Turner felt absurdly pleased with himself. "Do you know what I think, Miss Miranda Cheever?"

"What?"

"I think you just need to grow into yourself." The minute he said it, he was sorry. She would surely ask him what he meant, and he had no idea how to answer her.

But the precocious little child simply tilted her head to one side as she pondered his statement. "I expect you're right," she finally said. "Just look at my legs."

A discreet cough masked the chuckle that welled up in Turner's throat. "What do you mean?"

"Well, they're far too long. Mama always says that they start at my shoulders."

"They appear to begin quite properly at your waist to me."

Miranda giggled. "I was speaking metaphorically."

Turner blinked. This ten-year-old had quite a vocabulary, indeed.

"What I meant," she went on, "is that my legs are all the wrong size compared to the rest of me. I think that's why I can't seem to learn how to dance. I'm forever trodding on Olivia's toes."

"On Olivia's toes?"

"We practice together," Miranda explained briskly. "I think that if the rest of me catches up with my legs, I won't be so clumsy. So I think you're right. I do have to grow into myself."