“I sent for it,” explained Harboro. “I knew you’d want it the first thing.”
“You didn’t go to the house?”
“Oh, no. I sent the expressman to the house and instructed him to ask for your things. I suppose he met your father. It’s all right.”
She looked at him curiously. There was a little furrow in her forehead. “Do you always do things—that way?” she asked.
He didn’t appear to understand what she meant. He had other things on his mind. He stood away from her, by the door. “If I were you I’d take off that—harness,” he said. “It makes you look like a picture—or a sacrifice. Do you know the old Aztec legends? It would be nicer for you to look just like a little woman now. Put on one of the dresses you wore when we walked together. How does that strike you?”
“Well, I will.” She looked after him as if she were a little bewildered as he turned away, and closed the door. She heard him call back: “I’ll see if there’s anything I can do for Antonia. Supper will be ready when you come down.”
It seemed to her that his conduct was very strange for a lover. He was so entirely matter-of-fact. Yet everything about him seemed to be made up of kindness—to radiate comfort. She had never known any other man like this, she reflected. And then an unfamiliar light dawned upon her. She had had lovers before, certainly; but she realized now, with a deep and strange sensation, that she had never really been loved until Harboro came.
She had some difficulty in getting out of her wedding-finery. There was a momentary temptation to call for help. But she thought better of this, and in the end she came down-stairs like a girl, in a light, clinging dress of Chinese silk, with a girdle and tassel at the waist, and a red ribbon woven into the throat. You might have thought she was seventeen or eighteen. As a matter of fact, she was only twenty-two.
Harboro met her and kissed her, and led her to the table. He had a forceful manner. He was hungry, and it seemed that his efficiency extended to a knowledge of how a dinner should be served.
He took his seat at the end of the table where the roast was, and the carving implements. At Sylvia’s place there was a percolator, and the coffee-cups, and the sugar and cream.