hat
had strangely pleased, until the surprising moment when he had kissed
her. That had only disrupted her rather dreamy pleasure in a situation
she had not experienced before. All the men she had met in this wild
country were rough and bold; most of them had wanted to marry her, and,
failing that, they had persisted in amorous attentions not particularly
flattering or honorable. They were a bad lot. And contact with them
had dulled some of her sensibilities. But this Jean Isbel had seemed a
gentleman. She struggled to be fair, trying to forget her antipathy,
as much to understand herself as to give him due credit. True, he had
kissed her, crudely and forcibly. But that kiss had not been an
insult. Ellen's finer feeling forced her to believe this. She
remembered the honest amaze and shame and contrition with which he had
faced her, trying awkwardly to explain his bold act. Likewise she
recalled the subtle swift change in him at her words, "Oh, I've been
kissed before!" She was glad she had said that. Still--was she glad,
after all?

She watched him. Every little while he shifted his gaze from the blue
gulf beneath him to the forest. When he turned thus the sun shone on
his face and she caught the piercing gleam of his dark eyes. She saw,
too, that he was listening. Watching and listening for her! Ellen had
to still a tumult within her. It made her feel very young, very shy,
very strange. All the while she hated him because he manifestly
expected her to come. Several times he rose and walked a little way
into the woods. The last time he looked at the westering sun and shook
his head. His confidence had gone. Then he sat and gazed down into
the void. But Ellen knew he did not see anything there. He seemed an
image carved in the stone of the Rim, and he gave Ellen a singular
impression of loneliness and sadness. Was he thinking of the miserable
battle his father had summoned him to lead--of what it would cost--of
its useless pain and hatred? Ellen seemed to divine his thoughts. In
that moment she softened toward him, and in her soul quivered and
stirred an intangible something that was like pain, that was too deep
for her understanding. But she felt sorry for an Isbel until the old
pride resurged. What if he admired her? She remembered his interest,
the wonder and admiration, the growing light in his eyes. And it had
not been repugnant to her until he disclosed his name. "What's in a
name?