If the hair had been black.

If it had been brown.

Even had it been of the coarse red of the blond Eskimo of the upper Mackenzie! But it was gold--shimmering gold.
Still without speaking, Philip drew a knife from his pocket and cut the shining thread above the second knot, and worked at the finely wrought weaving of the silken filaments until a tress of hair, crinkled and waving, lay on the table before them.

If he had possessed a doubt, it was gone now.

He could not remember where he had ever seen just that colored gold in a woman's hair.