A lady was pacing its still damp boards.
A lady who did not turn her head at his step, but whom he instantly recognized from her dress, and wilful but not ungraceful bearing, as her whom he was determined to call, nay recognize, as Anitra Hazen.
His judgment counseled retreat, but the fascination of her presence held him, and in that moment of hesitation she turned towards him and flight became impossible.
It was the first opportunity he had had of observing her features in broad daylight.

The effect was a confused one.

She was Georgian and she was not Georgian.

Her skin was decidedly darker, her eyes more lustrous, her bearing less polished and at the same time more impassioned.

She was not so tall or quite so elegantly proportioned;--or was it her rude method of dressing her hair and the awkward cut of her clothes which made the difference.