"Oh, just a couple of butterflies' wings, Leah, and a drop of rose-dew,
please."
How prettily it sounded! From another it might have seemed silly to me,
but not from her. I was amused at her fancy. Miss Fielding, then, was
a poet. It was all so in key with the freshness of the morning and the
gay sweet sunshine!
I was more comfortable now, and more sane. So, as I lay awaiting her, I
wondered how such a woman, so instinct with refinement and with the air
of having had considerable social experience, was to be found in so
far-away a place. I knew of no residences in this vicinity except an
occasional farmhouse; it was remote even from any village. The sight of
her as she appeared last night in her elegant negligee came back to me,
like the scene of a play. I longed to see her again, to discover if,
perhaps, I had not exaggerated it all, or even, perhaps, had dreamed of
one so exquisitely gracious.
Leah, also, was a part of the strangeness. She had none of the
disturbing beauty of the quadroon--her beauty was without _diablerie_,
it was far from showing any sensuality. It was even spiritual in type.
Her face, as I brought it up, was more than intelligent, it was lighted
by an inward vision. The more I thought of her, the more I wondered if
I had not been tricked by my impressionability, by the strangeness of my
adventure, by the glamour of the night awakening. To put it to the
test, I took advantage of Miss Fielding's suggestion and rang the bell.
Leah appeared in a few moments, and came a little shyly into the room.
She wore a clean, fresh, crisp gown of blue, like a hospital nurse's
uniform, and was as trim and dignified. No, I had not been mistaken.
The light of day showed her still more remarkable than I had remembered.
Her regular features, her smooth, coffee-colored skin, her well-kept
shapely hands, all testified to an extraordinary breeding.
"Are you ready for your breakfast, sir?" she asked. Her voice was like
honey as she inquired how I had passed the night, and apologized for
Uncle Jerdon's snoring.
"I'll bring your water first," she suggested, and retired noiselessly,
to return in a moment with a bowl, some towels and toilet articles.
She seemed a little embarrassed by the situation, but assisted me in
sitting up. Then, finding that I could do for myself well enough, she
went down-stairs, and by the time I had finished my washing, she was
back with the tray.
"Miss Joy will be in to see you in a little while, sir," she said as she
made me comfortable with dexterous adjustments of my pillows.
But for her "sir," she had in no way acted as a servant, though, on the
other hand, she had assumed no attitude of equality. I could not help
admiring the fine neutrality she maintained without committing herself
to either role. All my first impressions of her were intensified by
this demeanor, and I awaited the opportunity of assuring her by my own
manner of my lack of prejudice on account of her color. Indeed, it was
not long before I was almost as unconscious of it, so far as any social
distinction was concerned, as a child might have been.
Miss Fielding came in a little later, dewy and shining, dressed all in
white--an embroidered linen blouse and a short skirt of serge, which
made her seem even younger than I had remembered. The sight of her
expressive, thoughtful, eager face, and the music in her sympathetic
voice gave my room quite another aspect. It became a stage again where
last night's drama would go on. How long I had waited for her, and now
she was come! Only an invalid, perhaps, can understand the difference
in atmosphere in that first quick sight of an expected delightful
presence to one who has waited for the weary hours to go by and bring
the wished-for vision.
She made a few kind inquiries as to my condition, moving meanwhile about
the room, disposing of the fresh roses she had brought, lowering the
window-sashes and raising the shades, rapid and graceful as a bird on
the wing. She was all modern, now; the medieval princess had given
place to something more complex, and as much more interesting. Every
word, every inflection of her voice, every gesture of her hand, every
expression of her mobile face showed subtlety of thought and sentiment;
she was obviously a creature of fine distinctions, of nuances of
feeling, though at present her talk was as simple and joyous as a
child's. That simplicity of hers, however, was the simplicity of a
Greek temple, made up of subtle ratios and proportions, of imperceptible
curves and esoteric laws.
She drew up a chair, at last, and sat down beside me. We looked at each
other frankly, and smiled, aware of a common thought, the desire to
prolong the situation as far as we might. This quickness of her
imagination was a delight. But the game was becoming too humorous, now,
in broad daylight, for us to keep it up. Our romance was in danger.
"I'm bursting with the obvious," I remarked.