Білі люди

           Hewasnotamanwhohadtheairofmakingconfidencesortalkingabouthimself,butbeforewepartedIseemedtoknowhimandhissurroundingsasifhehaddescribedthem.Amerephraseofhiswouldmakeapicture.Suchafewwordsmadehismotherquitecleartome.Theylovedeachotherinanexquisite,intimateway.Shewasabeautifulperson.Artistshadalwayspaintedher.Heandshewerecompletelyhappywhentheyweretogether.Theylivedinahouseinthecountry,andIcouldnotatalltellhowIdiscoveredthatitwasanoldhousewithbeautifulchimneysandaverybiggardenwithcurioushighwallswithcornertowersroundit.Heonlyspokeofitbriefly,butIsawitasapicture;andalwaysafterward,whenIthoughtofhismother,Ithoughtofherassittingunderagreatandancientapple-treewiththelong,late-afternoonshadowsstretchingonthethick,greengrass.IsupposeIsawthatjustbecausehesaid:

           “Willyoucometoteaunderthebigapple-treesomeafternoonwhenthelateshadowsarelikevelvetonthegrass?Thatisperhapstheloveliesttime.”

           Whenwerosetogoandjointherestoftheparty,hestoodamomentandglancedroundtheroomatourfellow-guests.

           “ArethereanyofyourWhitePeoplehereto-night?”hesaid,smiling.“Ishallbegintolookforthemeverywhere.”

           Iglancedoverthefacescarelessly.“Therearenonehereto-night,”Ianswered,andthenIflushedbecausehehadsmiled.“ItwasonlyachildishnameIgavethem,”Ihesitated.“Iforgotyouwouldn’tunderstand.Idaresayitsoundssilly.”

           Helookedatmesoquickly