First we see them aiming themselves at their hero; next they are shooting an eye at the handsome man.

The thirst of nature comes after that of their fancy, in conventional women.

Sick of the hero tried, tired of their place in the market, no longer ashamed to acknowledge it, they begin to consult their own taste for beauty--they have it quite as much as the men have it; and when their worshipped figure of manliness, in a romantic sombrero, is a threadbare giant, showing bruises, they sink on their inherent desire for a dance with the handsome man.

And the really handsome man is the most extraordinary of the rarities.

No wonder that when he appears he slays them, walks over them like a pestilence! This young Weyburn would touch the fancy of a woman of a romantic turn.
Supposing her enthusiastic in her worship of the hero, after a number of years--for anything may be imagined where a woman is concerned--why, another enthusiasm for the same object, and on the part of a stranger, a stranger with effective eyes, rapidly leads to sympathy.