“Why the illness of Miss Dadd.”
“And who in the world’s Miss Dadd?”
“Her most intimate friend and constant companion—the lady who was with us here that first day.”
“Oh the little round black woman who gurgled with admiration?”
“None other. But she was taken ill last week, and it may very well be that she’ll gurgle no more. She was very bad yesterday and is no better to-day, and Nina’s much upset. If anything happens to Miss Dadd she’ll have to get another, and, though she has had two or three before, that won’t be so easy.”
“Two or three Miss Dadds? is it possible? And still wanting another!” I recalled the poor lady completely now. “No; I shouldn’t indeed think it would be easy to get another. But why is a succession of them necessary to Lady Beldonald’s existence?”
“Can’t you guess?” Mrs. Munden looked deep, yet impatient. “They help.”
“Help what? Help whom?”
“Why every one. You and me for instance. To do what? Why to think Nina beautiful. She has them for that purpose; they serve as foils, as accents serve on syllables, as terms of comparison. They make her ‘stand out.’ It’s an effect of contrast that must be familiar to you artists; it’s what a woman does when she puts a band of black velvet under a pearl ornament that may, require, as she thinks, a little showing off.”
I wondered. “Do you mean she always has them black?”