“O, no,” she replied, “I would prefer to go now.  How their black faces will shine when they see the glass beads and gay handkerchiefs I have brought for them!  Besides, I want to find out who that singer is.  It’s strange you don’t take more interest in such a voice as that, when you are so full of music.  Will you have the goodness to ring for my shawl?”

With a decision almost peremptory in its tone, he said, “No; I had rather you would not go out.”  Seeing that his manner excited some surprise, he patted her head and added:  “Mind your husband now, that’s a good child.  Amuse yourself at the piano while I go out.”

She pouted a little, but finished by saying coaxingly, “Come back soon, dear.”  She attempted to follow him far enough to look out on the veranda, but he gently put her back, and, kissing his hand to her, departed.  She raised a corner of the curtain and peeped out to catch the last glimpse of his figure.  The moon was rising, and she could see that he walked slowly, peering into spots of dense shadow or thickets of shrubbery, as if looking for some one.  But all was motionless and still, save the sound of a banjo from the group of servants.  “How I wish I could hear that voice again!” she thought to herself.  “It’s very singular Gerald should appear so indifferent to it.  What can be the meaning of it?”

She pondered for a few minutes, and then she tried to play; but not finding it entertaining without an auditor, she soon rose, and, drawing aside one of the curtains, looked out upon the lovely night.  The grand old trees cast broad shadows on the lawn, and the shrubbery of the garden gleamed in the soft moonlight.  She felt solitary without any one to speak to, and, being accustomed to have her whims gratified, she was rather impatient under the prohibition laid upon her.  She rung the bell and requested Venus to bring her shawl.  The obsequious dressing-maid laid it lightly on her shoulders, and holding out a white nubia of zephyr worsted, she said, “P’r’aps missis would like to war dis ere.”  She stood watching while her mistress twined the gossamer fabric round her head with careless grace.  She opened the door for her to pass out on the veranda, and as she looked after her she muttered to herself, “She’s a pooty missis; but not such a gran’ hansom lady as turrer.”  A laugh shone through her dark face as she added, “’T would be curus ef she should fine turrer missis out dar.”  As she passed through the parlor she glanced at the large mirror, which dimly reflected her dusky charms, and said with a smile:  “Massa knows what’s hansome.  He’s good judge ob we far sex.”