She had no daughter of her own; she could do with a daughter.

But when she saw Columbine she sucked up her breath.
"My, but she'll be a care!" was her verdict.
"She don't know--how lovely she is," the dying woman had whispered.
"Don't tell her!" And Mrs.Peck had staunchly promised to keep the secret, so far as lay in her power.
That had happened six months before, and Columbine was out of mourning now.

She had come into the Spear Point community like a shy bird, a little slip of a thing, upright as a dart, with a fashion of holding her head that kept all familiarity at bay.

But the shyness had all gone now.
The girlish immaturity was fast vanishing in soft curves and tender lines.

And the beauty of her!--the beauty of her was as the gold of a summer morning breaking over a pearly sea.
She was a creature of light and laughter, but there were in her odd little streaks of unconsidered impulse that testified to a passionate soul.