AN OVATION
"Yes; but missing you sadly." He let his blue-black eyes rest upon her; it seemed to him that she had grown older since leaving England, also more beautiful. This beauty was of the kind to which he was ready to sacrifice; a beauty not alone physical but of caste. His animalism groveled before beauty of this thoroughbred type as a dog might fawn at the feet of his mistress. Physically beautiful she was, and generously so, but it was the caste which most impressed him; less that evidenced in skin and hair and delicately formed details, than the cool, perfect poise, a dignity as refreshing as an iced fruit.
"You have been some days in the United States, Count Dessalines?"
"I arrived a week ago on the French steamer; a delightful voyage. I was so fortunate as to meet some friends returning to Hayti, the Doctor and Madam Fouchere; they are friends of that dear fellow, Leyden."
"How nice; and speaking of Leyden, do you know where he is at present?"
"In England; it is possible that he may go to the Orinoco this autumn."
"Let us go out on the veranda," said Virginia. "It faces the sea and the air is delightful." She led the way through the house and out through glass doors. Dessalines, following her, exclaimed with pleasure.
"But this is charming! I had no thought of finding such a picturesque spot. I had expected that it would be wild, savage, with great trees and bowlders and crags over which the waves foamed. I have read 'Evangeline.' He was a great poet, your Longfellow. This is like England, is it not?"
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