She was younger than John--not more than sixteen.
"Hallo," she cried softly, "I'm Kismine."
She was much more than that to John already. He advanced toward her,
scarcely moving as he drew near lest he should tread on her bare toes.
"You haven't met me," said her soft voice. Her blue eyes added, "Oh,
but you've missed a great deal!"... "You met my sister, Jasmine, last
night. I was sick with lettuce poisoning," went on her soft voice, and
her eye continued, "and when I'm sick I'm sweet--and when I'm well."
"You have made an enormous impression on me," said John's eyes, "and
I'm not so slow myself"--"How do you do?" said his voice. "I hope
you're better this morning."--"You darling," added his eyes
tremulously.
John observed that they had been walking along the path. On her
suggestion they sat down together upon the moss, the softness of which
he failed to determine.
He was critical about women. A single defect--a thick ankle, a hoarse
voice, a glass eye--was enough to make him utterly indifferent. And
here for the first time in his life he was beside a girl who seemed to
him the incarnation of physical perfection.
"Are you from the East?" asked Kismine with charming interest.
"No," answered John simply. "I'm from Hades."
Either she had never heard of Hades, or she could think of no pleasant
comment to make upon it, for she did not discuss it further.
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