And we stood there in the musical, colorful twilight, my thoughts flew to Haidee, and I asked Wanza how she was faring.
“Well enough,” she retorted, with a swift back flinging of her blonde head.
“Well enough means very well, does it, Wanza?”
“If you can’t make me out, Mr. Dale, I guess I better quit talking. Seems like you never used to have no trouble.”
“I believe I am growing obtuse,” I replied lightly. And led the way across the bridge to the shop without further ado.
Had I dreamed that Wanza would have been so affected by the simple gift I tendered, I doubt if I would have had sufficient temerity to present it to her. I did this with a flourish, saying:
“You have been so kind to Joey and me, Wanza, that we beg you to accept this little kickshaw case in token of our appreciation. Joey hunted out the finest specimens of spirea for me, and I carved the lid, as you see, and cut your initials here in the corner.”
Ah, the light in the brilliant deep blue eyes raised to mine! the smile on the tender lips, the sobbing breath with which she spoke. I was stirred and vaguely abashed.
“You did this for me—for me,” she repeated, laughing, and shaking her head, and all but weeping. She clasped the box close to her girlish breast with a huddling movement of her arms, sank her chin upon it, caressed the smooth wood with her cheek. “It’s beautiful, beautiful! Oh, thank you, Mr. Dale, thank you!” Joey was cuddling against her shoulder and she put her arm out after a moment, took him into her embrace and kissed him with a soft lingering pressure of her lips against his.
When she stood upright at length her face was wreathed in smiles, and though I spied a tear on her lashes, it was with a ringing laugh that she said: