I stared at her, much inclined to laugh. The interview promised to be interesting.
“I went to Jamestown to get me a wife,” I said at length, “because I had pledged my word that I would do so. I was not over-anxious. I did not run all the way. But, as you say, I intended to do the best I could for myself; one hundred and twenty pounds of tobacco being a considerable sum, and not to be lightly thrown away. I went to look for a mistress for my house, a companion for my idle hours, a rosy, humble, docile lass, with no aspirations beyond cleanliness and good temper, who was to order my household and make me a home. I was to be her head and her law, but also her sword and shield. That is what I went to look for.”
“And you found—me!” she said, and broke into strange laughter.
I bowed.
“In God's name, why did you not go further?”
I suppose she saw in my face why I went no further, for into her own the color came flaming.
“I am not what I seem!” she cried out. “I was not in that company of choice!”
I bowed again. “You have no need to tell me that, madam,” I said. “I have eyes. I desire to know why you were there at all, and why you married me.”
She turned from me, until I could see nothing but the coiled wealth of her hair and the bit of white neck between it and the ruff. We stood so in silence, she with bent head and fingers clasping and unclasping, I leaning against the wall and staring at her, for what seemed a long time. At least I had time to grow impatient, when she faced me again, and all my irritation vanished in a gasp of admiration.
Oh, she was beautiful, and of a sweetness most alluring and fatal! Had Medea worn such a look, sure Jason had quite forgot the fleece, and with those eyes Circe had needed no other charm to make men what she would. Her voice, when she spoke, was no longer imperious; it was low pleading music. And she held out entreating hands.