Five Nights | Page 9

waves coming through the painted rushes above my head!
She was very simply dressed, yet so fitly to her own beauty.
A straight pale blue jacket covered her shoulders and opened on the breast over a white muslin vest. Her skirts hung like the full trousers of Persian women, and were a deep yellow in colour. Her feet were bare, and shone white on the red floor.
"How do you do, Suzee?" said Morley.
"How do you do, Mister Morlee," returned the girl lightly, smiling and showing pretty little teeth as she did so.
"You two gentlemen want some tea? Very good. I make it."
She glided to the curtains and disappeared as rapidly and noiselessly as she had entered.
I turned to Morley with enthusiasm.
"She's lovely, perfect."
"Isn't she just? I knew you'd say so. But she's married, old man, so don't you think you can go playing any tricks with her."
"Married?" I gasped incredulously, "that child? Impossible! You're joking."
"I'm not, 'pon my honour. She has a great roaring brute of a baby, too."
"How horrible!" I exclaimed. "Yes, horrible. You've spoiled it all. It seems a sacrilege."
"Fiddlesticks," returned my practical friend. "That's the sort that does these things, isn't it? Would you expect her to turn into an old maid?"
"No, but so young!" I faltered. In reality it was a shock to me. To have such an exquisite sight float before one for a moment, and then to be roughly dragged down to earth from the exaltation it had caused, hurt and bruised me.
The next moment she was back again, bearing a tray in her hands which she set on our table, and deftly arranged the steaming teapot and tiny cups before us.
As she bent near us over the little table a strange sensation of delight came over me, a faint scent of roses reached me from the little buds behind her ear. The blue stones in the long gold earrings swung against her neck of cream as she set out the tea things.
"How is your boy, Suzee?" asked Morley with a tone of mischief in his voice.
"He is very well, thank you, Mister Morlee."
"I should like to see him. Will you bring him in?" he continued, commencing to pour out the tea.
"Yes; he is asleep now, but I will wake him up," she returned nonchalantly, and, in spite of a protestation from me, she went out to do so.
After a minute we heard loud screams from across the passage and presently Suzee reappeared dragging (I can use no other phrase) in her arms an enormous baby. Its face was red, and it was roaring lustily. The girl-mother did not seem disturbed in the least by its cries, but staggered slowly over to us, clasping the child awkwardly round the waist and holding it flat against her own body.
It seemed very large, out of all proportion to the small and exquisitely dainty mother. She was short and small, and the child really, as I looked at it, seemed to be quite half the length of her own body.
"What a big boy he is," remarked Morley.
"Yes, isn't he?" said the mother proudly.
The baby roared its loudest, tears streamed down its scarlet face, and it dug its clenched knuckles furiously into its eyes.
"Surely it's in pain," I suggested.
"Oh, he always cries when he is woken up," returned the mother tranquilly. She did not seem to take the least notice of the child's bellowing. She might have been deaf for all the effect it had upon her. She stood there placidly holding it, though it seemed very heavy for her, while the child screamed itself purple. She began a conversation with Morley just precisely as if the child were non-existent.
I never saw such a picture, and it struck me suddenly I should like to paint it, just as it was there, and call the thing "Maternity."
But no. What would be the good? No one, certainly not the British public, would ever believe its truth.
They would think it a joke, and a grotesque one at that. "Beauty and the Beast" would do for a name, I mused, or "Fact and Fancy."
Nothing could be more delicately soul-absorbingly beautiful than the mother; nothing so brutally hideous as the child.
Suzee had sat down on the floor now, and the baby, still roaring, had rolled on to its face on the ground beside her. Still she took not the smallest notice of it; she laid one shapely hand on the small of its back, as if to make sure it was there, and continued her conversation tranquilly with Morley. How she could hear what he said I could not tell. I could hear nothing but the appalling row the child made.
"Do take it away," I said after a few moments more, in an interval of yells, during which the baby rolled, apparently in the last