and 'Molly' was engraved inside Johnnie's ring and on his
watch-case--doubtless on his heart, too. He was an affectionate little
man, and he thought his wife a wonderful woman; he knew that without her
he would hardly be more than a clerk in some other man's hotel.

At a word from Kirkpatrick, d'Arnault spread himself out over the piano,
and began to draw the dance music out of it, while the perspiration
shone on his short wool and on his uplifted face. He looked like some
glistening African god of pleasure, full of strong, savage blood.
Whenever the dancers paused to change partners or to catch breath, he
would boom out softly, 'Who's that goin' back on me? One of these city
gentlemen, I bet! Now, you girls, you ain't goin' to let that floor get
cold?'

Antonia seemed frightened at first, and kept looking questioningly at
Lena and Tiny over Willy O'Reilly's shoulder. Tiny Soderball was trim
and slender, with lively little feet and pretty ankles--she wore her
dresses very short. She was quicker in speech, lighter in movement
and manner than the other girls. Mary Dusak was broad and brown of
countenance, slightly marked by smallpox, but handsome for all that.
She had beautiful chestnut hair, coils of it; her forehead was low and
smooth, and her commanding dark eyes regarded the world indifferently
and fearlessly. She looked bold and resourceful and unscrupulous, and
she was all of these. They were handsome girls, had the fresh colour
of their country upbringing, and in their eyes that brilliancy which is
called--by no metaphor, alas!--'the light of youth.'

D'Arnault played until his manager came and shut the piano. Before he
left us, he showed us his gold watch which struck the hours, and a
topaz ring, given him by some Russian nobleman who delighted in Negro
melodies, and had heard d'Arnault play in New Orleans. At last he tapped
his way upstairs, after bowing to everybody, docile and happy. I walked
home with Antonia. We were so excited that we dreaded to go to bed.
We lingered a long while at the Harlings' gate, whispering in the cold
until the restlessness was slowly chilled out of us.

VIII

THE HARLING CHILDREN and I were never happier, never felt more contented
and secure, than in the weeks of spring which broke that long winter.
We were out all day in the thin sunshine, helping Mrs. Harling and Tony
break the ground and plant the garden, dig around the orchard trees, tie
up vines and clip the hedges.