She smiled again, faintly but with a quick appreciation, and took a seat in an arm-chair which stood beside my bed. I caught a glimpse of a green silk stocking and an exquisitely small foot in a fantastically shaped slipper. She went on:
"I have been a good deal troubled because we have, of course, no idea who you are. I was afraid that some of your friends might be alarmed about you. So, if there is any one we can notify, or send for, give me the address and the message, and I'll send it over to the telegraph office at the Harbor, or I can telephone for you, if there's any one in town. Doctor Copin could call and explain your condition, if you prefer."
As she leaned her face on her slender hand and looked at me, she added: "Your motor has been taken care of, so you needn't worry about that. Uncle Jerdon hauled it into the stable, and it can stay there until you have a chance to have it repaired."
"You were good to take me in and to get a doctor," I said, watching the tiny vertical lines come and go in her forehead.
"Oh, Doctor Copin happened to be with me when you were brought in by Uncle Jerdon. I really don't know how you managed to escape with your life."
"I didn't deserve to escape. I was running considerably over the speed limit, I imagine. I wanted to get back to town early." How much rather would I have discussed the queer little corners of her lips that changed so distractingly, and the transparent shadow under her cheek-bone that spiritualized her whole expression now and again!
"Oh, I must take your message!" she exclaimed, a little embarrassed by the pause that had fallen.
She rose and went over to an antique secretary, bringing back a pad of paper and a pencil. Reseating herself, she waited for me to dictate. I thought a while and then gave her a short report of my condition to be sent to my partner. Having written this down she went out of the room quietly, leaving the candle with me. No sooner had she left than my pain returned. For the time I had forgotten all about it.
In spite of this, the thought of her filled me with a restful peace. I didn't in the least want to know who she was, so long as I might see her, and hear her talk to me in that smooth, melodious, eager voice, whose sound had established her convincingly as a lady of rare promise. The prospect of having to spend several days in her society, or at least near her, was as pleasant a thought as I could well imagine. The fruit of our moment was a mystery, rich and fragrant, which I wished only not to destroy. I found myself trying, in her absence, to recall each feature of her face, her poses, and her hands so keenly alive and full of graceful gesture. That I did not wonder who she was—what was her name, her situation, her history—came, perhaps, from the state of bodily weakness in which my accident had left me, but it seemed to me then that it was not merely the passivity of my physical state; it was an epicurean joy I took in tasting my impressions drop by drop.
Meanwhile, as I thought it all over, my eyes wandered over that part of the room visible in the candle-light, from the four-posted bed in which I lay, and almost unconsciously I noted the many evidences of taste and wealth. The furniture was all of antique style, undoubtedly genuine specimens of the best designs of the later colonial period.