Paula came on, taking short little steps which alone made her some new Paula. He looked down and saw a pair of incredibly small slippers, seeming brand new, flashing in the moonlight. He looked up and saw Paula smiling!
“I have come back to you,” said Paula, “because you are good and I love you. Are you glad?”
She had come back to him like a great lady out of an old love-story. Her hair was in little, old-fashioned curls; her neck and throat gleamed at him modestly from the laces and ribbons which bewildered him; upon her brown fingers were dainty mitts of 1870, and the gown itself, it was an elaborate and astounding ballgown, all wide hoops and flounces, so that she seemed to him to be riding out to him upon a monster puff-ball. That her costume should, to the last detail, be like that of the lady of the picture, she carried in her hand a fan.
Paula with a fan! Paula in hoop-skirts!
“You are not glad?” cried Paula, her lips, which had been curved to her laughter, suddenly trembling.
“Glad!” cried John Sheldon. “Glad!”
And, a hundred things clamoring for expression, that was all that he said. Paula put her head to one side, like a bird, and looked at him. He looked at her, her curls, her sleeves, her ribbons, her fan—
Then Paula, gifted with understanding, laughed.
“Are you afraid of me now?” she asked softly.
“Before God—yes!” muttered Sheldon huskily.