"Lanky! Why you're not that. You've a splendid figure--tall, supple,
strong; you're like a Nez Perce girl I knew once. ... You're a
beautiful thing. Didn't you know that?"

"Not particularly. My friends don't dare flatter me. I suppose I'll
have to stand it from you. But I didn't expect compliments from Jack
Kells of the Border Legion."

"Border Legion? Where'd you hear that name?"

"I didn't hear it. I made it up--thought of it myself."

"Well, you've invented something I'll use. ... And what's your
name--your first name? I heard Roberts use it."

Joan felt a cold contraction of all her internal being, but
outwardly she never so much as nicked an eyelash. "My name's Joan."

"Joan!" He placed heavy, compelling hands on her shoulders and
turned her squarely toward him.

Again she felt his gaze, strangely, like the reflection of sunlight
from ice. She had to look at him. This was her supreme test. For
hours she had prepared for it, steeled herself, wrought upon all
that was sensitive in her; and now she prayed, and swiftly looked up
into his eyes. They were windows of a gray hell. And she gazed into
that naked abyss, at that dark, uncovered soul, with only the timid
anxiety and fear and the unconsciousness of an innocent, ignorant
girl.