"Yes," said she at last, nodding at her image with a satisfied
air, "that touch of green sets off your gipsy complexion
admirably, my dear--I could positively kiss you--I vow I could,
and I am hard to please. St. Anthony himself, meeting you alone
in the desert, would, at least, have run away from you, and that
would have been some tribute to your charms, but our philosopher
will just glance at you with his slow, grave smile, and tell
you, in his solemn, affable way--that it is a very fine morning
--heigho!"
Here (somewhat late in the day, perhaps) perceiving that I was
playing eavesdropper, I moved cautiously away, and taking up the
pail, returned to the cottage. I now filled the kettle and set
it upon the fire, and proceeded to spread the cloth (a luxurious
institution of Charmian's, on which she insisted) and to lay out
the breakfast things. In the midst of which, however, chancing
to fall into a reverie, I became oblivious of all things till
roused by a step behind me, and, turning, beheld Charmian
standing with the glory of the sun about her--like the Spirit of
Summer herself, broad of hip and shoulder, yet slender, and long
of limb, all warmth and life, and long, soft curves from throat
to ankle--perfect with vigorous youth from the leaves that
crowned her beauty to the foot that showed beneath her gown.
And, as I gazed upon her, silent and wondering, lo! though her
mouth was solemn yet there was laughter in her eyes as she spoke.
"Well, sir--have you no greeting for me?"
"It--is a--very fine morning!" said I. And now the merriment
overflowed her eyes, and she laughed, yet blushed a little, too,
and lowered her eyes from mine, and said, still laughing: "Oh, Peter--the teapot--do mind the teapot!"
"Teapot?" I repeated, and then I saw that I still held it in my
hand.
"Pray, sir--what might you be going to do with the teapot in one
hand, and that fork in the other?"
"I was going to make the tea, I remember," said I.
"Is that why you were standing there staring at the kettle while
it boiled over?"
"I--forgot all about the kettle," said I. So Charmian took the
teapot from me, and set about brewing the tea, singing merrily
the while. Anon she began to fry the bacon, giving each
individual slice its due amount of care and attention; but, her
eyes chancing to meet mine, the song died upon her lip, her
lashes flickered and fell, while up from throat to brow there
crept a slow, hot wave of crimson. And in that moment I turned
away and strode down to the brook.