fancy. He lightly put aside the compliment with a wave of his white hand.
“Of course,” he said confidently, “there is strongly presumptive and corroborative evidence? Perhaps you can give me—er—a brief outline of the affair?”
“Zaidee kin do that straight enough, I reckon,” said the woman; “what I want to know first is, kin you take the case?”
The Colonel did not hesitate; his curiosity was piqued. “I certainly can. I have no doubt your daughter will put me in possession of sufficient facts and details—to constitute what we call—er—a brief.”
“She kin be brief enough—or long enough—for the matter of that,” said the woman, rising. The Colonel accepted this implied witticism with a smile.
“And when may I have the pleasure of seeing her?” he asked politely.
“Well, I reckon as soon as I can trot out and call her. She’s just outside, meanderin’ in the road—kinder shy, ye know, at first.”
She walked to the door. The astounded Colonel nevertheless gallantly accompanied her as she stepped out into the street and called shrilly, “You Zaidee!”
A young girl here apparently detached herself from a tree and the ostentatious perusal of an old election poster, and sauntered down towards the office door. Like her mother, she was plainly dressed; unlike her, she had a pale, rather refined face, with a demure mouth and downcast eyes. This was all the Colonel saw as he bowed profoundly and led the way into his office, for she accepted his salutations without lifting her head. He helped her gallantly to a chair, on which she seated herself sideways, somewhat ceremoniously, with her eyes following the point of her parasol as she traced a pattern on the carpet. A second chair offered to the mother that lady, however, declined. “I reckon to leave you and Zaidee together to talk it out,” she said; turning to her daughter, she added, “Jest you tell him all, Zaidee,” and before the Colonel could rise again, disappeared from the room. In spite of his professional experience, Starbottle was for a moment embarrassed. The young girl, however, broke the silence without looking up.
“Adoniram K. Hotchkiss,” she began, in a monotonous voice, as if it were a recitation addressed to the public, “first began to take notice of me a year ago. Arter that—off and on”—
“One moment,” interrupted the astounded Colonel; “do you mean Hotchkiss the President of the Ditch Company?” He had recognized the name of a prominent citizen—a rigid, ascetic, taciturn, middle-aged man—a deacon—and more than that, the head of the company he had just defended. It seemed inconceivable.
“That’s him,” she continued, with eyes still fixed on the parasol and without changing her monotonous tone—“off and on ever since. Most of the time at the Free-Will Baptist Church—at morning service, prayer-meetings, and such. And at home—outside—er—in the road.”
“Is it this gentleman—Mr. Adoniram K. Hotchkiss—who—er—promised marriage?” stammered the Colonel.
“Yes.”
The Colonel shifted uneasily in his chair. “Most extraordinary! for—you see—my dear young lady—this becomes—a—er—most delicate affair.”
“That’s what maw said,” returned the young woman simply, yet with the faintest smile playing around her demure lips and downcast cheek.
“I mean,” said the Colonel, with a pained yet courteous smile, “that this—er—gentleman—is in fact—er—one of my clients.”
“That’s what maw said too, and of course your knowing him will make it all the easier for you.”
A slight flush crossed the Colonel’s cheek as he returned quickly and a little stiffly, “On the contrary—er—it may make it impossible for me to—er—act in this matter.”
The girl lifted her eyes. The Colonel held his breath as the long lashes were raised to his level. Even to an ordinary observer that sudden revelation of her eyes seemed to transform her face with subtle witchery. They were large, brown, and soft, yet filled with an extraordinary penetration and prescience. They were the eyes of an experienced woman of thirty fixed in the face of a child. What else the Colonel saw there Heaven only knows! He felt his inmost secrets plucked from him—his whole soul laid bare—his vanity, belligerency, gallantry—even his mediaeval chivalry, penetrated, and yet illuminated, in that single glance. And when the eyelids fell again, he felt that a greater part of himself had been swallowed up in them.
“I beg your pardon,” he said hurriedly. “I mean—this matter may be arranged—er—amicably. My interest with—and as you wisely say—my—er—knowledge of my client—er—Mr. Hotchkiss—may effect—a compromise.”
“And DAMAGES,” said the young girl, readdressing her parasol, as if she had never looked up.
The Colonel winced. “And—er—undoubtedly COMPENSATION—if you do not press a fulfillment of the promise. Unless,” he said, with an attempted return to his former easy gallantry, which, however, the recollection of her eyes made difficult, “it is a question of—er—the affections.”
“Which?” asked his fair client softly.
“If you still love him?” explained the Colonel, actually blushing.
Zaidee again looked up; again taking the Colonel’s breath away with eyes that expressed not only the fullest perception of what he had SAID, but of what he thought and had not said, and with an added subtle suggestion of what he might have thought. “That’s tellin’,” she said, dropping her long lashes again.
The Colonel laughed vacantly. Then feeling himself growing imbecile, he forced an equally weak gravity. “Pardon me—I understand there are no letters; may I know the way in which he formulated his declaration and promises?”
“Hymn-books.”
“I beg your pardon,” said the mystified lawyer.
“Hymn-books—marked words in them with pencil—and passed ‘em on to me,” repeated Zaidee. “Like ‘love,’ ‘dear,’ ‘precious,’ ‘sweet,’ and ‘blessed,’” she added, accenting each word with a push of her parasol on the carpet. “Sometimes a whole line outer Tate and Brady—and Solomon’s Song, you know, and sich.”
“I believe,” said the Colonel loftily, “that the—er—phrases of sacred psalmody lend themselves to the language of the affections. But in regard to the distinct promise of marriage—was there—er—no OTHER expression?”
“Marriage Service in the prayer-book—lines and words outer that—all marked,” Zaidee replied.
The Colonel nodded naturally and approvingly. “Very good. Were others cognizant of this? Were there any witnesses?”
“Of course not,” said the girl. “Only me and him. It was generally at church-time—or prayer-meeting. Once, in passing the plate, he slipped one o’ them peppermint lozenges with the letters stamped on it ‘I love you’ for me to take.”
The Colonel coughed slightly. “And you have the lozenge?”
“I ate it.”
“Ah,” said the Colonel. After a pause he added delicately, “But were these attentions—er—confined to—er—sacred precincts? Did he meet you elsewhere?”
“Useter
