My brother will
show you the house."
She descended, protesting, but we could not catch the words that fell
from her lips.
"You must tell us your name," said Ajax
"It's Gloriana," she faltered.
"Gloriana? Gloriana--what?"
"Jes--Gloriana."
* * * * *
"She is a type," said Ajax, a few days later.
"A type of what?"
"Of the women who suffer and are not strong There are many such in
this Western country. I'd like to hear her story. Is she married or
single? old or young? crazy or sane?"
"Gloriana," I answered, "satisfies our appetites but not our
curiosity."
As time passed, her reticence upon all personal matters became
exasperating. At the end of the first month she demanded and received
her salary. Moreover, refusing our escort, she tramped three dusty
miles to the village post-office, and returned penniless but jubilant.
At supper Ajax said--"It's more blessed to give than to receive--eh,
Gloriana?"
She compressed her lips, but her eyes were sparkling. After supper
Ajax commented upon her improved appearance in her presence. He
confessed himself at a loss to account for this singular
rejuvenescence.
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