the other side of him. It would never be quite clear to him why he
loved Jean. She was neither very beautiful nor very brilliant. But
there was a dearness about her. He hardly dared think of it. It had
gone very deep with him.

He turned to her. Her eyes were blazing. "Oh," she said, under her
breath, "how can she say things like that? If I knew a man who would
run away, I'd never speak to him."

"Of course. That's why I fell in love with you--because you had red
blood in your veins."

It was the literal truth. The first time that Ralph had seen Jean
McKenzie, he had been riding in Rock Creek Park. She, too, was on
horseback. It was in April. War had just been declared, and there was
great excitement. Jean, taking the bridle path over the hills, had
come upon a band of workers. A long-haired and seditious orator was
talking to them. Jean had stopped her horse to listen, and before she
knew it she was answering the arguments of the speaker. Rising a
little in her stirrups, her riding-crop uplifted to emphasize her
burning words, her cheeks on fire, her eyes shining, her hair blowing
under her three-cornered hat, she had clearly and crisply challenged
the patriotism of the speaker, and she had presented to Ralph's
appreciative eyes a picture which he was never to forget.

She had not been in the least embarrassed by his arrival, and his
uniform had made him seem at once her ally. "I am sure this gentleman
will be glad to talk to you," she had said to her little audience.
"I'll leave the field to him," and with a nod and a smile she had
ridden off, the applause of the men following her.