CHAPTER XII
THE THREE OF HEARTS
At length Donald said, abruptly, "You haven't asked me anything about Miss Treville, Smiles."
There was a perceptible pause in the girl's dish-drying, and the simple mountain ballad that she was happily humming broke off in the middle of a minor cadence. The man regarded her with curiosity as she slowly approached him, saying, "I didn't mean to be so forgetful, doctor, and I'm plumb ashamed. I should be pleased to have you tell me all about her."
"Why, I don't know as there is much to tell," he replied, a little nonplussed by the unexpectedness of the implied question. "Of course she is very nice and very lovely, as I wrote you."
"What does she look like?"
"I am afraid that I cannot hope to give a very accurate description of her, Rose. It would perhaps be easier if you had ever visited an art museum, and seen statues of some of the Greek goddesses, for people say that she looks like one of them. You see she is quite tall for a woman—almost as tall as I am myself—and ... well, her form and the way she carries herself is queenly. Then she has hair darker than yours, and ... her eyes are gray, I guess, although, come to think of it, I never noticed particularly. She isn't pretty like a wild-flower, but very beautiful, more like a stately cultivated bloom. When you have seen conservatory blossoms you will know better what I mean. She is very serious, too. Even when she is quite happy it is sometimes a bit hard to tell it, for she seldom really smiles.... I wish she would," he added, as though to himself, "she has wonderful teeth."
"Oh, she must be very lovely," mused Rose, and added with slight hesitancy, "I reckon you must love her powerful."
"Yes, of course," Donald answered, and then added, as though a logical reason for his affection was necessary, "You see, I have known Marion all her life. She is my sister's closest friend, and almost grew up in our house."