Then suddenly her mystification was complete. Their eyes met, not as before, but very near, so close had he come to her, still smiling. And instantly, instinctively, she lowered hers; for she felt as if she had been caught peering through a window at something she had no right to see. Yet the next instant she was looking again, half-guiltily, but irresistibly drawn. The eyes were of a curious color,––smoky black, or dark gray-blue, or somber purple,––liquid and deep like a 8 woman’s, but with a steady, dull glow in their depths that was unlike anything she had ever seen or imagined. What was it that burned there? Suffering? Hunger? Evil? Sorrow? Shame? It gave her something to think about for many a day and night. Meanwhile––
“I see you have heard of me,” he said mockingly.
She had no reply. She was realizing slowly that she had trespassed, that she had perhaps seriously compromised her cousin, and, most humiliating of all, that she had assumed quite the wrong attitude toward the man.
“You really didn’t know you were on my land?” he demanded, with a little less offensiveness in his tone.
“No,” she answered weakly.
“And Huntington didn’t send you here?”
“No.”
“I believe you, of course. But it’s rather queer. How did you happen––if you don’t mind––”
She did not mind in the least––was eager, indeed, to explain her presence there.
“I’m just learning to ride,” she began impulsively.