One could
then clearly see the beauty of her eyes, but there was in them a certain
furtiveness that came near to marring the effects. It was a peculiar
fixture of gaze, brought from the street, as of one who there saw a
succession of passing dangers with menaces aligned at every corner.
On the top floor, she pushed open a door and then paused on the
threshold, confronting an interior that appeared black and flat like a
curtain. Perhaps some girlish idea of hobgoblins assailed her then, for
she called in a little breathless voice, "Daddie!"
There was no reply. The fire in the cooking-stove in the room crackled
at spasmodic intervals. One lid was misplaced, and the girl could now
see that this fact created a little flushed crescent upon the ceiling.
Also, a series of tiny windows in the stove caused patches of red upon
the floor. Otherwise, the room was heavily draped with shadows.
The girl called again, "Daddie!"
Yet there was no reply.
"Oh, Daddie!"
Presently she laughed as one familiar with the humors of an old man.
"Oh, I guess yer cussin' mad about yer supper, Dad," she said, and she
almost entered the room, but suddenly faltered, overcome by a feminine
instinct to fly from this black interior, peopled with imagined dangers.
Again she called, "Daddie!" Her voice had an accent of appeal. It was as
if she knew she was foolish but yet felt obliged to insist upon being
reassured.
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