She was accustomed to be thus followed by her desperate past, and it
never failed to rouse in her the same feeling of resentment; yet--in
a strange town it was an advantageous reputation. She was a "Speed,"
was she? Well--let them find out.

Out of the window Isabelle watched the snow glide by in the frosty
morning. It was ever so much colder here than in Baltimore; she had not
remembered; the glass of the side door was iced, the windows were shirred
with snow in the corners. Her mind played still with one subject.
Did _he_ dress like that boy there, who walked calmly down a bustling
business street, in moccasins and winter-carnival costume? How very
_Western!_ Of course he wasn't that way: he went to Princeton, was a
sophomore or something. Really she had no distinct idea of him. An
ancient snap-shot she had preserved in an old kodak book had impressed
her by the big eyes (which he had probably grown up to by now). However,
in the last month, when her winter visit to Sally had been decided on,
he had assumed the proportions of a worthy adversary. Children, most
astute of match-makers, plot their campaigns quickly, and Sally had
played a clever correspondence sonata to Isabelle's excitable
temperament. Isabelle had been for some time capable of very strong,
if very transient emotions. . . .

They drew up at a spreading, white-stone building, set back from the
snowy street. Mrs. Weatherby greeted her warmly and her various younger
cousins were produced from the corners where they skulked politely.
Isabelle met them tactfully. At her best she allied all with whom she
came in contact--except older girls and some women. All the impressions
she made were conscious. The half-dozen girls she renewed acquaintance
with that morning were all rather impressed and as much by her direct
personality as by her reputation. Amory Blaine was an open subject.