"She is wonderful," he added.

"Look!" Aunt Caroline looked, shuddered, and collapsed again upon a whispered "Indian!" "Nonsense!" Rogers almost shook her.

And yet, considering the suggestive force of the poor lady's preconceived ideas, the mistake was not unpardonable.

In those surroundings, against that flickering light, standing, straight and silent in her short skirt and moccasins, her leaf-brown hair tied with bracken and turned to midnight black by the shadows, her grey eyes mysterious under their dark lashes, and her lips unsmiling, Desire might well have been some beauty of that vanishing race.

A princess, perhaps, waiting with grave courtesy for the welcome due her from her husband's people.
"And not a bit ashamed of it," murmured Aunt Caroline in what she fondly hoped was a whisper.