Again a short silence fell between them,—the quiet that unconsciously comes to people when they feel a long separation is near; when the short time left them should be crowded with words, and yet, a time when words seem so worthless.
Sargent looked down into the pensive little face so close to his own. In the night glow the two long braids of hair shone very soft and glossy. His hand sunk into them unconsciously and its delicacy and softness he found delicious to the touch.
"What makes your hair so beautiful?" he said impulsively, his hand still upon it.
"Oh, my! is it?" Natalia sighed. "It ought to be, though, for Mammy brushes it so—so long every morning and every night. Sometimes I wish I didn't have any, until she tells me I'd be ugly without it. And she says people won't love me when I'm grown up if I'm not pretty. Do you believe that?" with sudden intensity.
"No." Sargent laughed easily. "That's a bad theory of Mammy Dicey's. I'll have to tell her she's mistaken."
"And she says that a pretty child makes an ugly grown up person. Do you believe that?"
"Sometimes it may prove true,—but I know of one where it is not going to be the case."
Natalia's eyes beamed, and she edged up closer to Sargent, looking searchingly into his face.
"Do you believe I'm going to be pretty when I am grown up?"
Sargent looked down at her a long time before he answered lightly, "Why, of course. You are going to be the most beautiful woman in the world."