She frowned. “An understanding head might be a better gift. This evening, when I saw you, I understood why you came without telling anybody. And I thought: ‘Tamea, you are a little fool. Go back to Riva where your mixed blood does not set you apart from your world. Here it is difficult to know happiness!’”
“That was a sensible thought. Why do you not return to Riva? You are terribly out of place here.”
“You, who are all white, cannot understand the combat in my heart, Stoneface. I inherited too much from my father, who was a very wonderful man. I comprehend too quickly, I see too clearly and, I think, sometimes, I shall never be very happy. I am a child of love and I—I—well, I am sorry you will not help me know the ways of your people. I shall learn without aid but just now I would make haste. . . . However, I understand.”
Her long, beautiful hands lay in her lap—her fingers lacing and interlacing nervously; her face was downcast. Mellenger suspected that her long black lashes, seeming to lie on her rose-ivory cheek, effectually concealed a suspicious moistness. There was about her a sad, gentle, Madonna-like wistfulness more poignant than sorrow. Mellenger was touched.
Presently she raised her head and smiled defiantly. “Perhaps I, too, shall be a Stoneface, searching the sea for that which never comes. Tomorrow what shall we do to make happiness for ourselves?”
“Tomorrow I would like to dedicate to the delightful task of making you happy.”
“Then go away. You are not needed here.”
“I will go on Monday with Dan in his car. Until then you must endure me.”
“Thank you, Stoneface. This is a pretty place with none but fashionable people in it, apparently. I shall learn much here so I shall be dutiful and remain here very quietly with Maisie and Mrs. Casson.”
“That will please Dan very much.”