the sight of her, standing there so cool and neat and composed, so
typically American, a sort of goddess of America, in the heat and stir
of the Casino, that struck him like a blow.

How long was it since he had seen her last? Not more than a couple of
years. It seemed centuries. It all came back to him. It was during his
last winter at Harvard that they had met. A college friend of hers had
been the sister of a college friend of his. They had met several times,
but he could not recollect having taken any particular notice of her
then, beyond recognizing that she was certainly pretty. The world had
been full of pretty American girls then. But now--

He looked at her. And, as he looked, he heard America calling to him.
Mervo, by the appeal of its novelty, had caused him to forget. But now,
quite suddenly, he knew that he was homesick--and it astonished him,
the readiness with which he had permitted Mr. Crump to lead him away
into bondage. It seemed incredible that he had not foreseen what must
happen.

Love comes to some gently, imperceptibly, creeping in as the tide,
through unsuspected creeks and inlets, creeps on a sleeping man, until
he wakes to find himself surrounded. But to others it comes as a wave,
breaking on them, beating them down, whirling them away.

It was so with John. In that instant when their eyes met the miracle
must have happened. It seemed to him, as he recalled the scene now,
that he had loved her before he had had time to frame his first remark.
It amazed him that he could ever have been blind to the fact that he
loved her, she was so obviously the only girl in the world.