arm. He was indeed a man of small stature--about the medium
height for a woman--about the height of Jane Hastings. But his
figure was so well put together and his walk so easy and free
from self-consciousness that the question of stature no sooner
arose than it was dismissed. His head commanded all the
attention--its poise and the remarkable face that fronted it.
The features were bold, the skin was clear and healthy and rather
fair. His eyes--gray or green blue and set neither prominently
nor retreatedly--seemed to be seeing and understanding all that
was going on about him. He had a strong, rather relentless
mouth-- the mouth of men who make and compel sacrifices for their
ambitions.

``Victor,'' cried Selma as soon as he was within easy range of
her voice, ``please lend Miss Hastings a quarter.'' And she
immediately sat down and went to work again, with the incident
dismissed from mind.

The young man--for he was plainly not far beyond thirty--halted
and regarded the young woman on the horse.

``I wish to give this young gentleman here a quarter,'' said
Jane. ``He was very good about holding my horse.''

The words were not spoken before the young gentleman darted
across the narrow street and into a yard hidden by masses of
clematis, morning glory and sweet peas. And Jane realized that
she had wholly mistaken the meaning of that hypnotic stare.

Victor laughed--the small figure, the vast clothes, the bare feet