world the personification of the strongest and most delicate, most
controlling and most subtle passion that humanity is capable of, in
the likeness of a thick-waisted, idealess, expressionless, perfectly
contented female animal; and that thousands of idiots had since then
insisted upon perpetuating this model for the benefit of a world that
had gone on sighing for, pining for, fighting for, and occasionally
blowing its brains out over types far removed from that idiotic
standard.

Consequently Jeff saw only a face full of possibilities and
probabilities, framed in a small delicate oval, saw a slight woman's
form--more than usually small--and heard a low voice, to him full of
gentle pride, passion, pathos, and human weakness, and was helpless.

"I only said 'Good-morning,'" said Miss Mayfield, with that slight, arch
satisfaction in the observation of masculine bashfulness, which the best
of her sex cannot forego.

"Thank you, miss; good-morning. I've been wanting to say to you that I
hope you wasn't mad, you know," stammered Jeff, desperately intent upon
getting off his apology.

"It is so lovely this morning--such a change!" continued Miss Mayfield.

"Yes, miss! You know I reckoned--at least what your father said, made me
kalkilate that you"--

Miss Mayfield, still smiling, knitted her brows and went on: "I slept
so well last night," she said gratefully, "and feel so much better this
morning, that I ventured out. I seem to be drinking in health in this