her seniors, and, although she had ruled them like a spoiled queen,
she knew as little of their sex as they did of hers. Unconsciously
the strong young life within her had clamored for companionship, and
it was this that had drawn her to Poleon Doret--who would ever
remain a boy--and it was this that drew her to the young Kentuckian;
this, and something else in him, that the others lacked.

"Now that I think it over," he continued, "I'd rather have you like
me than have the men do so."

"Of course," she nodded. "They do anything I want them to--all but
father, and--"

"It isn't that," he interrupted, quickly. "It is because you ARE the
only woman of the place, because you are such a surprise. To think
that in the heart of this desolation I should find a girl like--like
you, like the girls I know at home."

"Am I like other girls?" she inquired, eagerly. "I have often
wondered."

"You are, and you are not. You are surprisingly conventional for
these surroundings, and yet unconventionally surprising--for any
place. Who are you? Where did you come from? How did you get here?"

"I am just what you see. I came from the States, and I was carried.
That is all I can remember."

"Then you haven't lived here always?"