There was a brief moment while she watched the color mount to his sun-bronzed face, the blue eyes glow, the strong form quiver ever so slightly. Then her lips framed "Richard"—the key of the universe. "Patricia!" came the answer.
Juma, from his discreet distance, heard her compared to the magnolia worn on the lapel of the coat she admired so much. In her white and fragrant young womanhood she was like it from sheer inaccessibility. The flower expressed her character and position—Patricia Knickerbocker, a daughter of the autocrat of York. When he mentioned her father's name the girl shivered. An invisible wall seemed to rise between them. Then the feeling died away. Her soul grew wider awake each moment her lover gazed at her.
As he drew her closer to him Juma's figure in the background bent over a flower in the path.
"Let 'em kiss," he mumbled. "Ole Miss used to say de female dat never lub am a sour pippin, and dere's enough ter start a vinegar press in dis family."
"You'll not permit them to take you away from me? You will be mine forever and ever?" said the youth.
A sigh of happiness answered him.
"I know I'm poor, Patricia, and my family can never equal yours."
"Don't!" she whispered. "What does it matter, what does anything matter—only that I'm here with you!"
"See the night creeping in off there, dear heart. It holds nothing more wonderful than this moment."