“You have funny dreams, Choseph, but I’ll tell Lentala you wish to see her,” and was gone.
I had already observed that no touch of native savagery rested on this room. Every article of use or adornment was of a highly civilized production. The barbaric splendor of the reception-room was absent here, and a dainty, girlish simplicity was the note. Exceedingly charming were products of her needlework and other handicraft copied from foreign articles. There were some English books that showed signs of hard use. I picked up one and found a dainty handkerchief within it, and felt a pity for Lentala thus reaching out for what she could not understand.
Beela appeared in different clothes when I rapped, and was much fresher and smarter than I had ever seen her. She looked conscious under my admiring glance, and expressed gratification at the improvement in my looks.
“Beelo, you are as pretty as a girl. Fie!”
She pretended not to hear, and was busy lighting a lantern.
“They are all asleep in this wing,” she said. “Now we’ll go. Listen to the storm! Mr. Vancouver is safe for another day, I hope. And still no earthquake.”
I felt a twinge, but no opportunity had offered for my telling her of the incident in the hut. The truth is, I dreaded lest she find fault with Christopher for disclosing our identity to Mr. Vancouver and my knowledge of his perfidy.
It would be difficult to say in what lay the finer air of Beela’s dress. In cut the garments had a masculine approach, but in China they might have passed for feminine. The trousers and blouse were of fine dark-blue cloth, and were ample. In place of the somewhat shabby straw hat was a becoming red turban, and the shoes were Turkish, red, and richly embroidered in gold. The blouse opened like a V at the neck, and a negligee tie matching in shade the turban and the shoes was secured with a splendid diamond at the bottom of the V.
More insinuating than these outward things were the girl’s gentler voice and manner. There was a hint of the young mother in her caressing look and touch, and the cello note in her voice had fallen still softer and smoother.
In lighting the lantern, she disarranged her turban by striking it against a piece of furniture. She straightened, and raised her arms to readjust it. Her sleeves were wide and open, and they slipped down, baring her arms.