“How about cook? You don’t think that possibly--er--she might be your Princess?”
“Who, sah? Lavinia, sah? Ah reckon yo’ makin’ fun, Mister Burton. Why, she ain’ no Princess, sah; she’s jes’ one dem no ’count No’th Ca’lina niggers!”
“Perhaps you are right. Nevertheless, Robert, Princesses move in strange disguises, I have no doubt. Unfortunately, I am unable to acquaint you with any certain method of detecting them. Of course, if she lives in a Castle and picks roses in an Enchanted Garden you know at once that she is a Princess; that is simplicity itself. Also, if she has beautiful soft brown eyes and--and dimples--” He snapped his fingers triumphantly and Bob started in alarm. “We have it, Robert! Rejoice!”
“That, Robert, is the secret! Dimples! Look for dimples! All Princesses have dimples. Aren’t you awfully glad I thought of that? When you go back, Robert, observe Lavinia closely. If she has dimples”--he spread his hands wide--“there you are, you have found your Princess!”
“Ah reckon th’ won’t be no dimples, Mister Burton,” said Bob lugubriously. “Ah reckon she’ll jes’ natu’ally snatch me bald-headed, sah, for not comin’ back an’ wipin’ de dishes.”
“You pain me, Robert. All the time you have stayed here keeping me from my work you have been neglecting your own labors. That is not right. Return at once to the kitchen and the Princess Lavinia. Not a word! I refuse to listen any longer to your chatter.”
“Yessah,” said Bob eagerly. “Thank’ y’, sah. Anythin’ Ah can git you, sah?”
“Nothing, Robert. Do not attempt to disarm my resentment; I am disappointed in you.” Burton waved him away. When he had gone, Burton lighted a third cigarette, stretched his arms overhead, yawned inelegantly and--suddenly sat up very straight and attentive in the chair.
From across the nodding roses, from an open window of the Castle, floated again a girl’s sweet, fresh voice in song. Burton’s heart leaped and he tried to still his breathing that he might hear the better, the while he searched eagerly with his gaze the windows of the house beyond the rose-garden.
“O Paradise, O Paradise, the world is growing old; Who would not be at rest and free where love is never cold? Where loyal hearts and true stand ever in the light, All rapture thro’ and thro’ in God’s most holy sight?”