The work drew near completion.  The hair, not in ropes, as heretofore, but its silken threads boldly and accurately shown, yet not so as to cord the mass, and unsatin it quite.  The silk dress; the lace collar; the blooming cheek, with its every dimple and incident; all these were completed, and one eyebrow, a masterpiece in itself.  This carved eyebrow was a revelation, and made everybody who saw it wonder at the conventional substitutes they had hitherto put up with in statuary of all sorts, when the eyebrow itself was so beautiful, and might it seems have been imitated, instead of libeled, all these centuries.

But beautiful works, and pleasant habits, seem particularly liable to interruption.  Just when the one eyebrow was finished, and when Jael Dence had come to look on Saturday and Monday as the only real days in the week, and when even Grace Carden was brighter on those days, and gliding into a gentle complacent custom, suddenly a Saturday came and went, but Little did not appear.

Jaet was restless.

Grace was disappointed, but contented to wait till Monday.

Monday came and went, but no Henry Little.

Jael began to fret and sigh; and, after two more blank weeks, she could bear the mystery no longer.  “If you please, miss,” said she, “shall I go to that place where he works?”

“Where who works?” inquired Grace, rather disingenuously.

“Why, the dark young man, miss,” said Jael, blushing deeply.

Grace reflected and curiosity struggled with discretion; but discretion got the better, being aided by self-respect.  “No, Jael,” said she; “he is charming, when he is here; but, when he gets away, he is not always so civil as he might be.  I had to go twice after him.  I shall not go nor send a third time.  It really is too bad of him.”

“Dear heart,” pleaded Jael, “mayhap he is not well.”

“Then he ought to write and say so.  No, no; he is a radical, and full of conceit; and he has done this one eyebrow, and then gone off laughing and saying, ’Now, let us see if the gentry can do the other amongst them.’  If he doesn’t come soon, I’ll do the other eyebrow myself.”

“Mayhap he will never come again,” said Jael.

“Oh, yes, he will,” said Grace, mighty cunningly; “he is as fond of coming here as we are of having him.  Not that I’m at all surprised; for the fact is, you are very pretty, extremely pretty, abominably pretty.”

“I might pass in Cairnhope town,” said Jael, modestly, “but not here.  The moon goes for naught when the sun is there.  He don’t come here for me.”

This sudden elegance of language, and Jael’s tone of dignified despondency, silenced Grace, somehow, and made her thoughtful.  She avoided the subject for several days.  Indeed, when Saturday came, not a word was said about the defaulter:  it was only by her sending for Jael to sit with her, and by certain looks, and occasional restlessness, she betrayed the slightest curiosity or expectation.