By this time he had reached the east end of the great studio room, farthest from the river. Here a tea table was spread with a silver tea service, and behind it a girl, oval-faced, radiantly healthy, her full lips parted in a ripe smile, her blue-gray eyes talking pleasure and satisfaction, her forehead laid about by a silver filigree band, beneath which her brown chestnut curls protruded. Her hands, Eugene noted, were plump and fair. She stood erect, assured, with the least touch of quizzical light in her eye. A white, pink-bordered dress draped her girlish figure.
"I don't know," he said easily, "but I wager a guess that this is—that this is—this is Suzanne Dale—what?"
"Yes, this is," she replied laughingly. "Can I give you a cup of tea, Mr. Witla? I know you are Mr. Witla from ma-ma´'s description and the way in which you talk to everybody."
"And how do I talk to everybody, may I ask, pleasum?"
"Oh, I can't tell you so easily. I mean, I can't find the words, you know. I know how it is, though. Familiarly, I suppose I mean. Will you have one lump or two?"
"Three an thou pleasest. Didn't your mother tell me you sang or played?"
"Oh, you mustn't believe anything ma-ma´ says about me! She's apt to say anything. Tee! Hee! It makes me laugh"—she pronounced it laaf—"to think of my playing. My teacher says he would like to strike my knuckles. Oh, dear!" (She went into a gale of giggles.) "And sing! Oh, dear, dear! That is too good!"
Eugene watched her pretty face intently. Her mouth and nose and eyes fascinated him. She was so sweet! He noted the configuration of her lips and cheeks and chin. The nose was delicate, beautifully formed, fat, not sensitive. The ears were small, the eyes large and wide set, the forehead naturally high, but so concealed by curls that it seemed low. She had a few freckles and a very small dimple in her chin.
"Now you mustn't laugh like that," he said mock solemnly. "It's very serious business, this laughing. In the first place, it's against the rules of this apartment. No one is ever, ever, ever supposed to laugh here, particularly young ladies who pour tea. Tea, Epictetus well says, involves the most serious conceptions of one's privileges and duties. It is the high-born prerogative of tea servers to grin occasionally, but never, never, never under any circumstances whatsoever——" Suzanne's lips were beginning to part ravishingly in anticipation of a burst of laughter.
"What's all the excitement about, Witla?" asked Skalger, who had drifted to his side. "Why this sudden cessation of progress?"