“I believe she is,” said Everett. “Don’t you think she is a pretty girl?”
“I like her hair and her necklace,” the simple one said. “She hath no cap or kerchief. Yea, she is like an angel.” He hesitated for a moment, looking from the picture to Walda, as if he were comparing the two faces, and he added: “She is not so fair as the prophetess of Zanah. Dost thou think her more comely than Walda Kellar?”
“Hush, Hans Peter; thou knowest it is a sin to see that a woman is fair or comely,” warned Walda.
The simple one shook his head of tangled, straw-colored hair, and answered:
“Thou forgettest the fool knoweth not right from wrong; he is the only free man in the whole colony.” He threw his cap into the air, but his stolid face betrayed no sign that he might be exulting over his emancipation from the laws of Zanah.
“Here, gather up these letters and papers and come with me to the inn,” said Everett. He thrust the photograph into the outside pocket of his coat.
“Now, indeed, do I know that I am a daughter of Eve,” said Walda, rising. “To-day it hath been made plain to me that I am not like unto the women of the world. I—I—I would have one glimpse of thy cousin. Dost thou think it would be very sinful if I looked at the image of thy kinswoman?”
“Sinful! I think it is your right to know something of the women outside the colony,” Everett declared. He took the picture from his pocket and put it into her hand.
Walda studied the face for a few moments.
“Thy cousin Beatrice is fair indeed.” As she spoke the faintest sigh accompanied her words. “Wilt thou not tell me something of her?” she asked. “Doth she wear this gown and this necklace when she worketh?”