the Queen of Sheba herself to pass me in a slattern’s rags, only her rags could I ever see, for all her beauty.
But how was it now with me that, from the very first, I had been first conscious of this maid herself, then of her rags. How was it that I felt no charity, nor pity of that sort, only a vague desire that she should understand me better — know that I meant her kindness — God knows what I wished of her, and why her grey eyes haunted me, and why I could not seem to put her from my mind.
That now she fully possessed my mind I convinced myself was due to my very natural curiosity concerning her; forgetting that a week ago I should not have condescended to curiosity.
Who and what was she? She had been schooled; that was plain in