I--I was sort of excited.

I liked to look at her, but didn't think." And now consciously her face was called up, infinitely sweet and more impelling for the deliberate memory.

Flash of brown skin, smooth and clear; level gaze of dark, wide eyes, steady, bold, unseeing; red curved lips, sad and sweet; her strong, clean, fine face rose before Jean, eager and wistful one moment, softened by dreamy musing thought, and the next stormily passionate, full of hate, full of longing, but the more mysterious and beautiful.
"She looks like that, but she's bad," concluded Jean, with bitter finality.

"I might have fallen in love with Ellen Jorth if--if she'd been different." But the conviction forced upon Jean did not dispel the haunting memory of her face nor did it wholly silence the deep and stubborn voice of his consciousness.

Later that afternoon he sought a moment with his sister.
"Ann, did you ever meet Ellen Jorth ?" he asked.
"Yes, but not lately," replied Ann.
"Well, I met her as I was ridin' along yesterday.