The visitor reached the side of the pallet. She was trembling, but not with fear. She fell on her knees, uttering a long tremulous “Oh!” and leaning forward, clasped the squalid creature in her arms, and kissed her on the cheek.
The woman tried to push her away. “How dare you!” she exclaimed, gasping with astonishment. “Do you know what I am? How dare you touch me? I am just out of jail!”
“You shall not go there again, poor soul!” the lady said, still embracing her. “Tell me how it came about. Was not your mother kind to you when you were a child?”
The woman looked dazed. “My mother!” she said. “She used to beat me. She liked my brother best.”
“Ah!” said Iona.
Another scene. It is a fine boudoir in a city in the New World. A coquettishly dressed young woman reclines on a couch. Before her, seated in a low chair and leaning toward her, gazing at her, fascinated, is a young man scarcely more than half her age. At the foot of the couch is a tall brasier of wrought brass from which rises a thread of incense-smoke. Heavy curtains half swathe two long windows opening on to a veranda that extends to the long windows of an adjoining drawing-room. In one of these windows, nearly hidden by the curtain, sits another lady with a bonnet on. She looks intently out into the street, as if watching some one, or waiting for some one. The curtain gathered before her head and shoulders, leaves uncovered a fold of a skirt of dark gray, and a silver chatelaine-bag.
“I hope that you will conclude to choose journalism,” said the lady on the lounge, continuing a conversation. “It so often leads to authorship. And I have set my heart on your being a famous poet.”
“I, madam!” exclaimed the young man, blushing. “I never attempted to write poetry. It is true that when with you I become aware of some mysterious music in the universe which I know not how to express.”
The lady smiled and made a quick, warning signal to remind him of the other occupant of the boudoir.
“I am, then, stirring your ambition,” she said. “I have done more. I have spoken of you to a friend of mine who is connected with a popular magazine. That would allow you leisure to cultivate your beautiful imagination.”