She's in charge of this hospital--"
Socola laughed skeptically.
"I've already seen the most wonderful woman in Richmond, Miss Jennie--"
"But she _is_--really--the most wonderful woman in all the South--I
think in the world--Mrs. Arthur Hopkins--"
"Really?"
"She has done what no man ever has anyhow--sold all her property for two
hundred thousand dollars and given it to the Confederacy. And not
satisfied with giving all she had--she gave herself."
Socola followed the girl in silence into the little office of the
hospital and found himself gasping with astonishment at the sight of the
delicate woman who extended her hand in friendly greeting.
She was so perfect an image of his own mother it was uncanny--the same
straight, firm mouth, the strong, intellectual forehead with the heavy,
straight-lined eyebrows, the waving rich brown hair, with a strand of
silver here and there--the somber dress of black, the white lace collar
and the dainty white lace cap on the back of her beautiful hair--it took
his breath.
The more he saw of these Southern people, men and women, the more absurd
became the stuff he had read so often about the Puritan of New England
and the Cavalier of the South. He was more and more overwhelmed with the
conviction that the Americans were _one_ people racially and
temperamentally.
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