wenty-eight years old, blue-eyed,
blond, handsome, affable, genial in manner and a good mixer. Within
twenty-four hours he had made friends with the widow and every boarder
in the house.

They introduced him to their friends and in a week he had won the good
opinion of the leading citizens of the place. A few days later the
widow's pretty daughter arrived from boarding school and the young
adventurer faced the first problem of his mission.

She was a slender, dark-eyed, sensitive creature of eighteen. Shy,
romantic, and all eyes for the great adventure of every Southern girl's
life--the coming of the Prince Charming who would some day ride up to
her door, doff his plumed hat, kiss her hand and kneel at her feet?

Cook read the eagerness in her brown eyes the first hour of their
meeting. And what was more serious he felt the first throb of emotion
that had ever distressed him in the presence of a woman.

He had never made love. He had tried all other adventures. He had never
met the type that appealed to his impulsive mind. He was angry with
himself for the almost resistless impulse that came, to flirt with this
girl.

It could only be a flirtation at best and, it could only end in
bitterness and hatred and tragedy in the end. He had done dark deeds on
the Western plains. But they were man deeds. No delicate woman had been
involved in their tangled ethics.

There was something serious in his nature that said no to a flirtation
of any kind with a lovely girl. He had always intended to take women
seriously. He did take them seriously. He wouldn't hesitate to kill a
man if he were cornered. But a woman--that was different. He tried
to avoid the eyes of Virginia. He couldn't. In spite of all, seated
opposite at the table, he found himself looking into their brown liquid
depths. They were big, soulful eyes, full of tenderness and faith and
wonder and joy. And they kept saying to him:

"Come here, stranger man, and tell me who you are, where you came from,
where you're going, and what's your hurry."

There was nothing immodest or forward in them. They just kept calling
him.

She was exactly the type of girl he had dreamed he would like to marry
some day when life had quieted down. She was of the spirit, not the
flesh. Yet she was beautiful to look upon. Her hair was a dark, curling
brown, full of delicate waves even on the top of her head. Her hands
were dainty. Her body was a slender poem in willowy, graceful lines