“The nurse-girl, I suppose you mean—Kalliopé?”
“A nurse-girl? Nonsense! But all the islanders are kings and queens, of course.”
“What makes you say she is an islander? Has she told you anything?”
“Not about herself. Is she given to lavishing confidences on strangers? She hardly said a word to me.”
“She is particularly gifted in the matter of supplying information,” said Wylie, who had joined his wife. “Unfortunately it varies with time and circumstances.”
“No, no; we must not prejudice him against her,” said Zoe. “But do tell me why you decided that she must come from the islands?” she asked eagerly of Armitage.
“Her face! What more could one want? That blue-black hair and marble complexion, and the peculiarly pure profile—it is the very finest island-type. You get it nowhere else, and it degenerates horribly easily, even in individuals, under the influence of city life. Think of our friend Romanos. As a youth he must have been a perfect example of the type. Now he might stand for a rather battered Athenian of the rackety sort.”
“Prince Romanos! Why, that is the person Kalliopé is like, and little Janni too—I see it now!” cried Zoe.
“That is the type, of course. They may even come from the same island. I noticed a suggestion of dialect in her speech which I have caught much more faintly in his.”
“You have made good use of your opportunity for studying her, old man,” said Wylie jokingly.