Page:Hopkinson Smith--armchair at the inn.djvu/343

 her face aglow with her whirl through the crisp air. “Am I not too lovely, and is not my gardening costume perfect? You see, I am always careful to do my digging in black velvet and lace,” and a low gurgling sound like the cooing of doves followed by a burst of uncontrollable laughter filled the room.

If on her other visits she had captured us all by the charm of her personality, she drew the bond the tighter now. Then she had been the thorough woman of the world, adapting herself with infinite tact to new surroundings, contributing her share to the general merriment—one of us, so to speak; to-night she was the elder sister. She talked much to Herbert about his new statue and what he expected to make of it. He must not, she urged, concern himself alone with artistic values or the honors they would bring. He had gone beyond all these; his was a higher mission—one to bring the human side of the African savage to light and so help to overturn the prejudice of centuries, and nothing must swerve him from what she considered his lofty purpose—and there must be no weak repetition of his theme. Each new note he sounded must be stronger than the last.