He was indeed such a man as a brainless or sensual woman could yield to with ease.

He had an insinuating animal grace, that physical handsomeness which marks so many of the Tziganies who fill the red coats of a Gipsy musical sextette! He was not distinguished, yet there was an intelligence in his face, a daring at his lips and chin, which, in the discipline and conventions of organized society, would have made him superior.

Now, with all his sleek handsomeness, he looked a cross between a splendid peasant and a chevalier of industry.
She compared him instinctively with Ingolby the Gorgio, as she looked at him.

What was it made the difference between the two?
It was the world in a man--personality, knowledge of life, the culture of the thousand things which make up civilization: it was personality got from life and power in contest with the ordered world.
Yet was this so after all?
Tekewani was only an Indian brave who lived on the bounty of a government, and yet he had presence and an air of command.

Tekewani had been a nomad; he had not been bound to one place, settled in one city, held subservient to one flag.