Part 44 (1/2)
Two days later a hack rolled up the graveled walk to the white porch, a girl leaped out and bounded up the steps, her cheeks flushed, her wide open blue eyes dancing with excitement.
She was evidently surprised to find that Cleo was an octoroon, blushed and extended her hand with a timid hesitating look:
”This--this--is Cleo--the major's housekeeper?” she asked.
The quick eye of the woman took in at a glance the charm of the shy personality and the loneliness of the young soul that looked out from her expressive eyes.
”Yes,” she answered mechanically.
”I'm so sorry that the major's away--the driver told me----”
”Oh, it's all right,” Cleo said with a smile, ”he wrote us to make you feel at home. Just walk right in, your room is all ready.”
”Thank you so much,” Helen responded, drawing a deep breath and looking over the lawn with its green gra.s.s, its dense hedges and wonderful cl.u.s.ters of roses in full bloom. ”How beautiful the South is--far more beautiful than I had dreamed! And the perfume of these roses--why, the air is just drowsy with their honey! We have gorgeous roses in the North, but I never smelled them in the open before”--she paused and breathed deeply again and again--”Oh, it's fairyland--I'll never want to go!”
”I hope you won't,” Cleo said earnestly.
”The major asked me to stay as long as I wished. I have his letter here”--she drew the letter from her bag and opened it--”see what he says: 'Please come at once to my home for as long as you can stay'--now wasn't that sweet of him?”
”Very,” was the strained reply.
The girl's sensitive ear caught the queer note in Cleo's voice and looked at her with a start.
”Come, I must show you to your room,” she added, hurriedly opening the door for Helen to pa.s.s.
The keen eyes of the woman were scanning the girl and estimating her character with increasing satisfaction. She walked with exquisite grace.
Her figure was almost the exact counterpart of her own at twenty--Helen's a little fuller, the arms larger but more beautiful. The slender wrists and perfectly moulded hand would have made a painter beg for a sitting. Her eyes were deep blue and her hair the richest chestnut brown, ma.s.sive and slightly waving, her complexion the perfect white and red of the Northern girl who had breathed the pure air of the fields and hills. The sure, swift, easy way in which she walked told of perfect health and exhaustless vitality. Her voice was low and sweet and full of shy tenderness.
A smile of triumph flashed from Cleo's greenish eyes as she watched her swiftly cross the hall toward the stairs.
”I'll win!” she exclaimed softly.
Helen turned sharply.
”Did you speak to me?” she asked blus.h.i.+ng.
”No. I was just thinking aloud.”
”Excuse me, I thought you said something to me--”
”It would have been something very nice if I had,” Cleo said with a friendly smile.
”Thank you--oh, I feel that I'm going to be so happy here!”
”I hope so.”
”When do you think the major will come?”
The woman's face clouded in spite of her effort at self-control: