How could it be possible for the two things to be true?
He believed the latter to be true, and he would not relinquish his conviction of the former; and these conflicting thoughts augmented the mystery that appeared to be a part of Bess.

In those ensuing days, however, it became clear as clearest light that Bess was rapidly regaining strength; that, unless reminded of her long association with Oldring, she seemed to have forgotten it; that, like an Indian who lives solely from moment to moment, she was utterly absorbed in the present.
Day by day Venters watched the white of her face slowly change to brown, and the wasted cheeks fill out by imperceptible degrees.

There came a time when he could just trace the line of demarcation between the part of her face once hidden by a mask and that left exposed to wind and sun.
When that line disappeared in clear bronze tan it was as if she had been washed clean of the stigma of Oldring's Masked Rider.

The suggestion of the mask always made Venters remember; now that it was gone he seldom thought of her past.

Occasionally he tried to piece together the several stages of strange experience and to make a whole.