The brown maid hesitated before making reply, while the crimson began to show itself on her chestnut-coloured cheeks.
“Oh, never mind!” said her young mistress, noticing her hesitation. “If there’s any secret, Yola, I shall not insist upon an answer.”
“Missa, from you Yola no have secret. Cubina, he mountain man—Maroon.”
“What! is he the Maroon I am supposed to resemble?”
“True, missa, he same.”
“Oh! I see how it is—I suppose that accounts for you thinking me beautiful? This Cubina, no doubt, is a sweetheart of yours?”
Yola lowered her eyes without making reply. The crimson appeared in deeper tint through the chestnut.
“You need not answer, good Yola,” said the young Creole, with a significant smile. “I know what your answer ought to be, if you were to speak your mind. I think I have heard of this Cubina. Have a care, my girl! These Maroons are a very different sort of men from the coloured people on the plantations. Like me, he is—ha! ha! ha!” and the young beauty glanced coyly at the mirror. “Well, Yola, I’m not angry with you, since it is your sweetheart with whom I am compared. Love, they say, is a wonderful beautifier; and no doubt Master Cubina is, in your eyes, a perfect Endymion.
“Come girl!” added she, coquettishly tossing the chestnut tresses over her shoulders of ivory, “I fear we have been wasting time. If I’m not ready to receive this grand guest, I’ll get into trouble with papa. Go on, and trick me out in a style becoming the mistress of Mount Welcome.”
With a peal of merry laughter at the air of grandeur she had thus jestingly assumed, the young lady bent down her head, submitting her magnificent chevelure to the manipulation of her maid.