Faulkner.
Previously he had known her only in the riding habit of Confederate gray
which she had at first affected, or in the light muslin morning dress
she had worn at Gray Oaks. It seemed to him, to-night, that the studied
elegance of her full dress became her still more; that the pretty
willfulness of her chin and shoulders was chastened and modified by the
pearls round her fair throat. Suddenly their eyes met; her face paled
visibly; he fancied that she almost leaned against her companion for
support; then she met his glance again with a face into which the color
had as suddenly rushed, but with eyes that seemed to be appealing to him
even to the point of pain and fright. Brant was not conceited; he could
see that the girl's agitation was not the effect of any mere personal
influence in his recognition, but of something else. He turned hastily
away; when he looked around again she was gone.

Nevertheless he felt filled with a vague irritation. Did she think him
such a fool as to imperil her safety by openly recognizing her without
her consent? Did she think that he would dare to presume upon the
service she had done him? Or, more outrageous thought, had she heard of
his disgrace, known its cause, and feared that he would drag her into
a disclosure to save himself? No, no; she could not think that! She had
perhaps regretted what she had done in a freak of girlish chivalry; she
had returned to her old feelings and partisanship; she was only startled
at meeting the single witness of her folly. Well, she need not fear!
He would as studiously avoid her hereafter, and she should know it. And
yet--yes, there was a "yet." For he could not forget--indeed, in the
past three weeks it had been more often before him than he cared to
think--that she was the one human being who had been capable of a great
act of self-sacrifice for him--her enemy, her accuser, the man who had
scarcely treated her civilly. He was ashamed to remember now that this
thought had occurred to him at the bedside of his wife--at the hour of
her escape--even on the fatal slope on which he had been struck down.
And now this fond illusion must go with the rest--the girl who had
served him so loyally was ashamed of it! A bitter smile crossed his
face.

"Well, I don't wonder! Here are all the women asking me who is that
good-looking Mephistopheles, with the burning eyes, who is prowling
around my rooms as if searching for a victim. Why, you're smiling for
all