What was in the far recesses of that soul, where these two young people
were concerned, must remain unrevealed; but Li Choo and the halfbreed
woman in their own language--which was almost without words--clucked and
grunted their understanding.
Left alone again, Louise found herself seated with only the table between
herself and Orlando, pouring him tea and offering him white frosted cake
like that dispensed at weddings; while Orlando chuckled his thanks and
thought what a wonderful thing it was that a bullet in a man's side could
bring the unexpected to pass and the heart's desire of a man within the
touch of his fingers.
Their conversation was like that of two children. She talked of her bird
Richard, which she had sent to him every morning that it might sing to
him; of her black cat Nigger, which sat on his lap for many an hour of
the day; of the dog Jumbo, which said its prayers for him to get well,
for a piece of sugar-that was a trick Louise had taught it long ago.
Orlando talked of his horses and of his mother--who, he declared, was the
most unselfish person on the whole continent; how she only thought of
him, and spent her money for him, and gave to him, never thinking of
herself at all.
"She has the youngest heart of anyone in the world," said Orlando.
Louise did not even smile at that. No one with a heart that was not
infantile could dress and talk as Orlando's mother dressed and talked;
and so Louise said softly: "I am sure her heart is a thousand years
younger than mine--or younger than mine was.
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