The doctor stood staring at her, lost in admiration of the shapely figure, the heavy, curling hair, and the wonderfully expressive face. The girl quickly recovered her poise and returned him a frank smile.
“You wish to see me?” she said, after waiting in vain for him to begin.
“Ah––a––yes, certainly––that is, I beg your pardon,” stammered the doctor. “I did request permission of Madam Elwin to make your acquaintance. We have heard so much about you. I am Doctor Jurges, an Episcopal clergyman.” His sentences issued like blasts from an engine exhaust.
“I am Carmen Ariza,” said the girl, extending her hand.
“Ah––quite so, quite so,” blustered the doctor, clearing his throat noisily. “Let us be seated. Ah––ah––you have a remarkable voice. It gives evidence of careful cultivation.”
“No,” returned the girl simply. “It has never had any cultivation. It is natural for me to sing. And my poor organ-playing is what I have picked up myself these six months.”
The man regarded her with amazement. “Remarkable!” he murmured.
The girl looked up into his face searchingly. “Why,” she asked, “should every one up here think it remarkable when a human mind is clear enough to be a transparency for God?”
Had the roof fallen, the excellent doctor could have been no more startled. He cleared his throat violently again; then fumbled nervously in his pocket and drew out his glasses. These he poised upon the ample arch of his ecclesiastical nose, and through them turned a penetrating glance upon the girl.
“H’m! yes,” said he at length; “quite so, quite so! And––ah––Miss Carmen, that brings us to the matter in question––your religious instruction––ah––may I ask from whom you received it?”