"Yes; a little of Faed's Evangeline, as she sat in the door-way of
the warehouse yesterday."

"Exactly. I wish the picture were more of a picture; but I don't know
that it matters. _She's_ more of a picture."

"'Pretty as a bird,' the captain said."

"Bird isn't bad. But the bird is in her manner. There's something
tranquilly alert in her manner that's like a bird; like a bird that
lingers on its perch, looking at you over its shoulder, if you come
up behind. That trick of the heavily lifted, half lifted eyelids,--I
wonder if it's a trick. The long lashes can't be; she can't make them
curl up at the edges. Blood,--Lurella Blood. And she wants to know."
Staniford's voice fell thoughtful.

"She's more slender than Faed's Evangeline. Faed painted rather too
fat a sufferer on that tombstone. Lurella Blood has a very pretty
figure. Lurella. Why Lurella?"

"Oh, come, Staniford!" cried Dunham. "It isn't fair to call the girl
by that jingle without some ground for it."

"I'm sure her name's Lurella, for she wanted to know. Besides, there's
as much sense in it as there is in any name. It sounds very well.
Lurella. It is mere prejudice that condemns the novel collocation
of syllables."

"I wonder what she's thinking of now,--what's passing in her mind,"