"Come here!" he said, reaching out his hand. "The love you have, does it mean that you sing? Your voice is—is rather fine. Let me have the fingers."
Half afraid, Donelle placed her hand in his.
"Oh!" Revelle was feeling every inch of the slim hand and fingers. "The long hand and wide between the fingers! And the finger tips; it is the musician's hand unless nature has played a trick. Will you let me find out if nature has spoken true?"
"I—I do not know what you mean."
"Are you a young child?"
"No, I am old, quite old."
"Stand up, let me feel how tall you are. Ah! you are of the right age! Young enough to obey; old enough to hunger. Are you beautiful?"
"Oh! No. I'm sure I'm ugly."
"Of the light or the dark?"
"I'm white, I—I am thin, too."