"Who's a beauty?"
"Sometimes he called her 'Nan,' sometimes he called her 'Dianner.'"
"Oh!"
"You know what I'd like to do?"
"No, what?"
"She's so purty, I feel that I want to put out one finger—just like that—and tech her ter see ef she'd fly!"
"Oh, hell!" the cook sneered. "Her wings ain't sprouted yet; wait till you see her riled."
For five days Bivens stuck to his bed with dogged determination, and each day Stuart went out with Nan.
Never had she been more resistlessly charming. With tireless fancy he watched the wind blow the ringlets of black hair across her rosy cheeks, while her deep eyes sparkled with joy. Sometimes he imagined her the daughter of Venus suddenly risen from the sea, the dim roar of whose surf he could hear behind the white sands of the beach. Each day she grew more and more dependent on him, until her whole life seemed to move only at his command. Each day their association grew in tender intimacy and every fear that had stirred his heart at first was lulled at last to sleep.