The minutes passed—leaden minutes. Some of the guests made a pretense of little conversational flurries.
“Our missionaries are so heroic—The lecture was so edifying—How they must love their work—I have often felt a call—Their lives are very lonely—Sacrifice and service—My daughter shows such a fine missionary spirit—I tell Eula—The lovely cannibals—I always say—Of course——”
These hushed, tentative fragments of conversation were interrupted by the triumphant, booming voice of Hopey:
“Hey, dar—you deef ’n’ dum’ nigger! Whut you mean by keepin’ Mis’ Mildred’s comp’ny waitin’? Ain’t you got no manners?”
Still the minutes passed.
Colonel Gaitskill became quite distraught, and excusing himself, slipped up-stairs and helped himself to the contents of a private decanter. He came back to face the same intense, expectant silence which some of the guests attempted to relieve by exchanging seats with other guests. Once more there were scattering efforts at normal talk:
“The Christmas ship to the Belgians—Splendid missionary spirit—I haven’t much to give—I told her God loves the dear cannibals—Home and foreign—All the chickens I took from under the setting hen——”
“Git on up dem front steps!” Hopey howled, as if she were driving a pig. “Go on in dat front do’! Hurry!”
The front door opened and Diada entered, advanced to the center of the drawing-room, and stopped.
It is impossible to describe the peculiar sound which was emitted from the throats of the twenty women at their first sight of Diada.