So they gazed at each other, she with that instinctive look peculiar to women in its intuitive powers, but common to all persons who had lived far from crowds and to whom a new-comer was an event. Wade's gaze, intense and all-embracing, found that face now closer in resemblance to the imagined Lucy's--a pretty face, rather than beautiful, but strong and sweet--its striking qualities being a colorless fairness of skin that yet held a rose and golden tint, and the eyes of a rare and exquisite shade of blue.
"Oh! Are you feeling ill?" she asked. "You look so--so pale."
"No. I'm only tuckered out," replied Wade, easily, as he wiped the clammy drops from his brow. "It was a long ride to get here."
"I'm the lady of the house," she said, with a smile. "I'm glad to welcome you to White Slides, and hope you'll like it."
"Well, Miss Columbine, I reckon I will," he replied, returning the smile. "Now if I was younger I'd like it powerful much."
She laughed at that. "Men are all alike, young or old."
"Don't ever think so," said Wade, earnestly.
"No? I guess you're right about that. I've fetched you up some things for your cabin. May I peep in?"
"Come in," replied Wade, rising. "You must excuse my manners. It's long indeed since I had a lady caller."
She went in, and Wade, standing on the threshold, saw her survey the room with a woman's sweeping glance.