XXVII
JEAN TRANSFORMED
“Where did you spend the night, Jean?” asked Mary.
“In heaven,” answered Jean, her cheeks glowing.
“Nonsense.”
“I mean exactly what I say, Mame. I lodged with an Indian princess, and ate my meals with a member of the British aristocracy. The princess couldn’t speak English, but her brother acted as interpreter, so we got on all right. She is a slave of an old chief of the Seattles. I wish I had the money; I’d buy her, and send her back to her people.”
“You might as well wish you owned the moon!”
“I own the earth,—as much of it as I need. Everybody does.”
“Then the most of us get cheated out of our patrimony,” laughed Sally O’Dowd.
“I wish you could all have had a chance to look in on me and my princess last night; we were as snug as two bugs in a rug. The crickets sang on the hearth, just as they used to do of nights in the old home. The wind roared like a storm at sea, and the rush of the river was grand. I can shut my eyes and live it all over again.”
“You’ve gone stark mad!” laughed Hal.