“Charmin’!” responded Mrs. Davis, secretly delighted at the compliment. “Ain’t you ’shamed to talk like that to an ol’ ’ooman? You young fellers gits worse every day. Jes’ see Miss Sappho lafin’ at you! Well, thank God, we’s doin’ well tonight, took in a pile o’ money so fur. Mary Jane Robberson thinks she’s goin’ to down me in this here refreshment room, but jes’ you wait ’tel Friday night!”
“What about Friday night?” asked Sappho.
“Nuthin’, only I’ve got a big s’prise waitin’ fer Mary Jane Robberson.”
“Friday will be a mighty unlucky day for Sister Robinson, eh?” laughed Will.
“Thar won’t be a thing doin’ fer her, honey, you’ll see. I’se gwine ter paralize her!”
“I’ll bet my money on you every time, Mrs. Davis,” laughed Will. “I have every confidence in your business sagacity. I feel sorry for Sister Robinson.”
“She’ll need yer sorrow,” replied Mrs. Davis. “Mary Jane Robberson’s jealous, an’ when people gits stage they can’t do the bes’ thing in the bes’ place. I ain’t jealous o’ nobody, an’ I’se jes’ settin’ back here watchin’ her kill hersef, as cool as a sittin’ hen. I had a letter from Mis’ Mason, an’ she says as how she’s goin’ ter stan’ by me. You know what that means, don’ yer, honey? Oysters, coffee, ice cream and cake fer two,” she murmured, repeating Will’s order. “My head’s level, thar ain’t a thing the matter with it,” she finished, as she turned to execute the order.
A silence fell between the two as they sat within the shadow of the trees, content to be with each other. Will was happy to have the privilege of feasting his eyes upon the lovely face opposite him, which dimpled and blushed in such a charming manner beneath his glance. Never before had she seemed to abandon herself so completely to the influence of his passion; but tonight she laid aside her coldness and seemed ready to accept the homage which he was longing to lay at her feet. The girl felt it.
“Why,” she asked herself, “why should I always walk in the shadow of a crime for which I am in no way to blame? Why deny myself all the pleasures of a home and love with such a man as he who will offer me the noblest heritage of woman?”
The more she thought the stronger became her resolve not to fight against fate, but to accept the goods the gods provided without question. She would rise above maddening fears, penance for involuntary wrongs, the sackcloth and ashes of her life, and be as other women, who loved and were beloved. So she smiled on Will bewitchingly; sallies of wit and fun flashed from her pretty lips in a way which was as fascinating as bewildering. Will knew her to be well educated, but had never supposed that she possessed the exquisite art of repartee. Tonight he caught glimpses of an ideal woman and wife, and the glimpse intoxicated him. Now Love was kind.
They had very nearly finished their lunch when the room was invaded by Dora, followed by Doctor Lewis, who had arrived from New Orleans the last of the previous week.
“Oh, here you are, Sappho, I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Have you had one of Madam Frances’s predictions? She is creating a sensation.
“No,” replied Sappho, “I have not. Have you one? Is it good?”
“Yes, I have one. For my part I think it’s rubbish. Just listen,” and she read from a slip of paper in her hand:
All that glistens is not gold;
Often have you heard this told.
Despise the false; welcome the true,
So shall you receive your due.
“Now whatever in the world does she mean by all that?”
“Where’s John?” asked her brother rather abruptly; “has he had a message, too?”
“Yes; and he’s so mad that he won’t give anyone a decent word,” replied his sister. “I’m sure,” she continued, “if I felt as hateful as John Langley has acted tonight, I’d stay at home.”
“Do you remember how his message read?” asked her brother.
“Yes,” said Dora, “it was something like this: ‘He who expects gain shall lose. Be faithful to the object of your choice, or merit the fate reserved for fickleness and deceit.’ ”
“Can’t blame him for feeling wrathy over such a fortune as that, can you, Lewis?” asked Will, turning to his sister’s companion.
“Gad, no!” replied the doctor. “If he would only prove unfaithful to ‘the object of his choice’ how happy some other fellow might be.”
Dora looked at her companion with scorn on her countenance. “I just think I hate you sometimes, Arthur Lewis!” she exclaimed, as she turned to leave the room.
“Oh, I say, Dora, do have something before you go,” urged the unlucky fellow, as he followed his angry companion toward the door.
“No, I won’t have anything. I do believe you just love to see John Langley quarrel with me, but it won’t do you a bit of good, Arthur Lewis, not a bit.”
As they vanished from sight Will turned to Sappho and said: “Dora and John worry me, Miss Clark; I fear that there is trouble ahead for my little sister if she marries him, and I could find it in my heart to wish that her choice had fallen on Lewis. He is a thoroughly good and capable man, and loves the girl devotedly.”
“Let us hope that all things may turn out for the best,” replied Sappho.
“I don’t know why I should worry you with this, Miss Clark,” said Will, as he turned toward her with a light in his eyes which a man gives to but one woman in the world. “Miss Clark—Sappho—”
“Ah, here you are.” This time it was John Langley who had broken in upon the lovers. He came up to them smiling, polished, bland. Sappho wondered why she had never noticed how very disagreeable John Langley’s smile was. She shuddered a bit as he drew nearer to them. Behind him
