mouth stubborn and voluptuous, and large eyes several shades darker than her hair. The chin was too abruptly square for beauty, but it was dimpled, and there was the other dimple that appeared under her right eye when she smiled. She was smiling now at his scrutiny, and the dimple was so delightful that he unconsciously smiled back at her.
“Now do you know exactly what I look like?” she challenged him.
He nodded. Then, in the casual way in which he often told startling truths, he answered, “You look, my darling, like a girl who’s always fed on the roses and lain in the lilies of life and who’ll be damned if she’ll consider doing anything else. And I promise,” he added, “if I can help it you’ll never have to.”
“Good heavens,” said Ann. “No young gentleman should analyze me like that. Roses and lilies—is that why your mother doesn’t approve of me?”
Denis laughed. “She doesn’t approve of anybody of our generation. She always says modern young people have no modesty and no manners.”
“She likes you,” said Ann. “Still, though, you’re her firstborn, and besides—you know, Denis, I think she has a lot of respect for you because you’ve never had a pain. She’s always been delicate, hasn’t she?—and she seems to think there’s something awfully clever about you, never to have been sick.”
“You’ve never been sick either, have you?”
“No, not particularly, but—but really, she does dislike me and I wanted to ask you if I’d ever done anything to offend her. She’s so dreadfully polite, as if I’d forged a check and had repented and people had agreed not to refer to it any more.”
Denis took both her hands in his. “Ann, she has mighty serious views of life and she prefers girls who are very thoughtful and dignified. But there’s no reason why that should come between you and me. I prefer you.”
“Thank you very much,” Ann said. She smiled up at him frankly. “I do like you, Denis. You’re so honest—and so sure of yourself. I wish I were as certain of everything as you.”
Denis stayed half an hour after that, until Colonel Sheramy sent a servant down to remind him of the time. Ann would not kiss him good night.
2
To tell the truth, Ann found his kisses so thrilling that she was afraid lest they befuddle what she intended to be a long conference with herself after she went to her room. But mammy took so long brushing her hair that she got drowsy, and dropped off to sleep before she had squeezed out more than a thought or two.
She woke up to a day so hot and still that it produced a feeling of annoyance while she was yet half-conscious. She wished she were back at Saratoga, and she hoped the new overseer would turn out to be a model of efficiency, for if he did the colonel might be prevailed upon to take her to a watering-place for September. Ann pushed up the mosquito bar and pulled the bellcord. “Good morning,” she said as mammy appeared with the coffee-tray.
“Good evenin’,” said mammy accusingly.
Ann chuckled. “What time is it?”
“It’s mighty nigh bedtime. Not much use gettin’ up now.” Mammy set the tray on the bedside table and as Ann sat up to pour her coffee mammy plumped up the pillows behind her. “Miss Ann, you got business to be up befo’ de day is half wo’ out.”
“If you scold me,” said Ann, “I’m going to set you to picking cotton and let Lucile dress me.”
Having heard this awful threat before, mammy paid no attention and kept on scolding. No matter how hot the day mammy always looked crisp, in her starched blue calico and her tignon wrapped smartly around her head. “Is you gonta get up, Miss Ann?” she demanded finally.
“Right this minute. Get me a cold bath.”
“Humph,” said mammy, and waddled out.
Setting down her coffee-cup, Ann thrust her feet into the slippers that stood waiting on the bedstep and crossed over to the washstand, where she tossed up a handful of water to clear the
“Now do you know exactly what I look like?” she challenged him.
He nodded. Then, in the casual way in which he often told startling truths, he answered, “You look, my darling, like a girl who’s always fed on the roses and lain in the lilies of life and who’ll be damned if she’ll consider doing anything else. And I promise,” he added, “if I can help it you’ll never have to.”
“Good heavens,” said Ann. “No young gentleman should analyze me like that. Roses and lilies—is that why your mother doesn’t approve of me?”
Denis laughed. “She doesn’t approve of anybody of our generation. She always says modern young people have no modesty and no manners.”
“She likes you,” said Ann. “Still, though, you’re her firstborn, and besides—you know, Denis, I think she has a lot of respect for you because you’ve never had a pain. She’s always been delicate, hasn’t she?—and she seems to think there’s something awfully clever about you, never to have been sick.”
“You’ve never been sick either, have you?”
“No, not particularly, but—but really, she does dislike me and I wanted to ask you if I’d ever done anything to offend her. She’s so dreadfully polite, as if I’d forged a check and had repented and people had agreed not to refer to it any more.”
Denis took both her hands in his. “Ann, she has mighty serious views of life and she prefers girls who are very thoughtful and dignified. But there’s no reason why that should come between you and me. I prefer you.”
“Thank you very much,” Ann said. She smiled up at him frankly. “I do like you, Denis. You’re so honest—and so sure of yourself. I wish I were as certain of everything as you.”
Denis stayed half an hour after that, until Colonel Sheramy sent a servant down to remind him of the time. Ann would not kiss him good night.
2
To tell the truth, Ann found his kisses so thrilling that she was afraid lest they befuddle what she intended to be a long conference with herself after she went to her room. But mammy took so long brushing her hair that she got drowsy, and dropped off to sleep before she had squeezed out more than a thought or two.
She woke up to a day so hot and still that it produced a feeling of annoyance while she was yet half-conscious. She wished she were back at Saratoga, and she hoped the new overseer would turn out to be a model of efficiency, for if he did the colonel might be prevailed upon to take her to a watering-place for September. Ann pushed up the mosquito bar and pulled the bellcord. “Good morning,” she said as mammy appeared with the coffee-tray.
“Good evenin’,” said mammy accusingly.
Ann chuckled. “What time is it?”
“It’s mighty nigh bedtime. Not much use gettin’ up now.” Mammy set the tray on the bedside table and as Ann sat up to pour her coffee mammy plumped up the pillows behind her. “Miss Ann, you got business to be up befo’ de day is half wo’ out.”
“If you scold me,” said Ann, “I’m going to set you to picking cotton and let Lucile dress me.”
Having heard this awful threat before, mammy paid no attention and kept on scolding. No matter how hot the day mammy always looked crisp, in her starched blue calico and her tignon wrapped smartly around her head. “Is you gonta get up, Miss Ann?” she demanded finally.
“Right this minute. Get me a cold bath.”
“Humph,” said mammy, and waddled out.
Setting down her coffee-cup, Ann thrust her feet into the slippers that stood waiting on the bedstep and crossed over to the washstand, where she tossed up a handful of water to clear the
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