y or not.

In events such as she had that night faced with him, any other girl Orme
had ever met would have shown moments of weakness, impatience, or fear.
But to her belonged a calm which came from a clear perception of the
comparative unimportance of petty incident. She was strong, not as a man
is strong, but in the way a woman should be strong.

The blood went to his cheeks as he remembered how tenderly he had spoken
to her in the boat, and how plain he had made his desire for her. What
should he call his feeling? Did love come to men as suddenly as this? She
had not rebuked him--there was that much to be thankful for; and she must
have known that his words were as involuntary as his action in touching
her shoulder with his hand.

But how could she have rebuked him? She was, in a way, indebted to him.
The thought troubled him. Had he unintentionally taken advantage of her
gratitude by showing affection when she wished no more than comradeship?
And had she gently said nothing, because he had done something for her?
If her patience with him were thus to be explained, it must have been
based upon her recognition of his unconsciousness.

Still, the more he pondered, the more clearly he saw that she was not a
girl who, under the spell of friendly good will, would permit a false
situation to exist. Her sincerity was too deep for such a glossing of
fact. He dared assume, then, that her sympathy with him went even so far
as to accept his attitude when it was a shade more than friendly.

More than friendly! Like a white light, the truth flashed upon him as he
stood there on the rocking platform of the car. He and she would have to
be more than friendly! He had never seen her until that day. He did not
even know her name. But all his life belonged to her, and would belong to
her forever. The miracle which had been worked upon him, might it not
also have been worked upon her? He felt unworthy, and yet she might
care--might already have begun to care--But he put the daring hope out of
his mind, and looked again at Maku.

The Japanese had not moved. His face still wore its racial look of
patient indifference; his hands were still crossed in his lap. He sat on
the edge of the seat, in order that his feet might rest on the floor, for
his legs were short; and with every lurch of the car, he swayed easily,
adapting himself to the motion with an unconscious ease that betrayed
supple muscles.

The car stopped at a corner and the