Arms and the Woman

"Here," holding forth a great red rose.

"No," said I, "I'll keep this one."

She said nothing, but went on snipping a red rose here, a white one

there. She wore gloves several sizes too large for her, so I judged

that her hands were small and tender, perhaps white. And there was a

grace in her movements, dispite the ungainly dress and shoes, which

suggested a more intimate knowledge of velvets and silks than of

calico. In my mind's eye I placed her at the side of Phyllis. Phyllis

reminded me of a Venus whom Nature had whimsically left unfinished.

Then she had turned from Venus to Diana, and Gretchen became evolved: a

Diana, slim and willowy. A sculptor would have said that Phyllis might

have been a goddess, and Gretchen a wood nymph, had not Nature suddenly

changed her plans. What I admired in Phyllis was her imperfect

beauties. What I admired in Gretchen was her beautiful perfections.

And they were so alike and yet so different. Have you ever seen a body

of fresh water, ruffled by a sudden gust of wind, the cool blue-green

tint which follows? Then you have seen the color of Gretchen's eyes.

Have you ever seen ripe wheat in a sun-shower? Then you have seen the

color of Gretchen's hair. All in all, I was forced to admit that, from

an impartial and artistic view Gretchen the barmaid was far more

beautiful than Phyllis. From the standpoint of a lover it was

altogether a different matter.

"Gretchen," said I, "you are very good-looking."

"It would not be difficult to tell Herr's nationality."

"Which means----?"

"That the American says in one sentence what it would take a German or

a Frenchman several hundred sentences to say."

Gretchen was growing more interesting every minute.

"Then your mirror and I are not the only ones who have told you that

you are as beautiful as Hebe herself?"

"I am not Hebe," coldly. "I am a poor barmaid, and I never spill any

wine."

"So you understand mythology?" I cried in wonder.

"Does Herr think that all barmaids are as ignorant as fiction and

ill-meaning novelists depict them? I have had a fair education."

"If I ever was guilty of thinking so," said I, answering her question,

"I promise never to think so again."

"And now will Herr go to his breakfast and let me attend to my duties?"

"Not without regret," I said gallantly. I bowed to her as they bowed

in the days of the beaux, while she looked on suspiciously.