and--and-- It's no use trying to explain; if you've known the
horrible lonesomeness of the plains you already understand, and if
you don't..."

"I know what you mean," Willock remarked, with a reminiscent sigh.

"Let it not be put in words," Bill persisted. "If a thing can't be
expressed, words only mislead. I never knew any good to come of
talking about smiles in eyes. There's nothing to it but misleading
words."

"Go on, Lahoma," said Willock encouragingly, "we're both staying
with you, to see that you come out of this with flying colors. Just
go ahead."

"I want to ask you all about yourself," remarked Lahoma
thoughtfully, "because I can see from your face, and the way you
talk, that you're a real sample of the big world. If I tell you
all about myself, will you do the same?"

Wilfred promised, and Lahoma entered on the history of her
childhood. Wilfred looked and listened joyously, conscious of the
unusual scene, alive to the subtle charm of her fearless eyes, her
unreserved confidences, the melting harmony of her musical tones.
To be sure, she was only a child, but he saw already the promise of
the woman. The petals as yet were closed, but the faint sweet
fragrance was already astir. He found, too, that in her nature was
already developed something not akin to youth, something impersonal,
having nothing to do with one's number of years--like the breath of
experience, or the ancient freshness of a new day. It was born of