I gazed at her slim but rounded figure in tattered boy's garb—but the woman's lines were unmistakable. And her face, with clustering curls. Gentle girlhood. A face of dark, wild beauty.
"My father hates women. He says they are all bad. It is a sin to wear woman's finery; or it breeds sin in women. Let's not talk of that. Philip, tell me—oh, if you could only realize all the things I want to know. In Great New York, there are theatres and music?"
"Yes," I said. And began telling her about them.
The witching of this moonlit garden! But the moon had presently sunk, and to the east the stars were fading.
"Philip! Look! Why, it's dawn already. I've got to leave you."
I held her just a moment by the hand.
"May I meet you here to-morrow night?" I asked.
"Yes," she said simply.
"Good night—Jetta."
"Good night. You—you've made me very happy."