It was a woman's voice, but
a determined woman's. I knew of course that Little Miss had come. But
also I knew at once--this being her voice--that it would not be in my
power to call her Little Miss.
CHAPTER XXIII
THE STRAIN OF PEAVEY
It was too true that I could not call her "Little Miss," as I had
lightly called her mother "Miss Caroline" at our first encounter. Of a
dusky pallor was Miss Lansdale when I first beheld her under the night
of her hair. As the waning light showed me her, I thought of a blossomed
young sloe tree in her own far valley of the Old Dominion. Closer to her
I could note only that she was dark but fair, for observations of this
character became, for some reason, impracticable in her immediate
presence.
She greeted me kindly, as her mother's lawyer; she was cordial to me a
moment, as her mother's friend; but later, when these debts of civility
had been duly paid, when we had gone from the outer dusk into candle
light, she favored me only with occasional glances of the mildest
curiosity, in which was neither kindness nor cordiality. Not that these
had given way to their opposites; they were simply not there. Not the
faintest hint of unfriendliness could I detect.
Pages:
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316