When the girl raised her head he saw that her face had grown hard and cold, and that the expression of her eyes had changed to one of indignant surprise.

The charming coquetry had fled from her look, yet her evident aversion piqued him into a half smiling, half serious interest.

He wondered if she would marry that fine looking rustic, the miller, and if the riotous Gay blood in her veins would flow placidly in her mother's class?
Had she, too, inherited, if not the name, yet the weaknesses of an older race?
Was she, like himself, cursed with swift fancies and swifter disillusionments?
How frail she was, and how brilliant! How innocent and how bitter! He turned away, ostensibly to examine a print on the wall, and while his back was toward her, he felt that her gaze stabbed him like the thrust of a knife.

Wheeling quickly about, he met her look, but to his amazement, she continued to stare back at him with the expression of indignant surprise still in her face.

How she hated him and, by Jove, how she _could_ hate! She reminded him of a little wild brown animal as she stood there with her teeth showing between her parted red lips and her eyes flashing defiance.