The dark head was bent close to hers, watching the wonderful wings.
Slowly Betty Harris put out a finger and stroked the wings.
They fluttered a little—opened wide and rose—in their first flutter of light.
“Oh!” It was a cry of delight from the child.
The great creature had settled on the bunch of bananas and hung swaying. The gold and blue wings opened and closed slowly.
Achilles drew near and put out a finger.
The butterfly was on it.
He held it toward her, smiling gently, and she reached up, her very breath on tiptoe. A little smile curved her lips, quick and wondering, as the transfer was made, thread by thread, till the gorgeous thing rested on her own palm.
She looked up. “What shall I do with it?” It was a shining whisper.
Achilles’s eyes sought the door.