g reassurances to her; others
surrounded a stout, red-faced girl who was laughing and talking
loudly. The Jew's eyes wandered till they came to the fireplace. There
another woman leaned against the wall.

The music struck up, the dancing began again, the two other girls,
quickly provided with partners, began to waltz, the superfluous men
stood up together and went at it with gravity and grace. No one asked
this woman, who stood at ease, watching the dancers, her hands resting
on her hips, her head tilted back against the logs. As he looked at
her, the intruder had a queer little thrill of fright. He remembered
something he had once seen--a tame panther which was to be used in
some moving-picture play. Its confident owner had led it in on a chain
and held it negligently in a corner of the room, waiting for his cue.
The panther had stood there drowsily, its eyes shifting a little,
then, watching people, its inky head had begun to move from side to
side. He remembered the way the loose chain jerked. The animal's eyes
half-closed, it lowered its head, its upper lip began to draw away
from its teeth. All at once it had dropped on its belly. Some one
cried out, "Hold your beast!"

This young woman by the fireplace had just that panther-air of
perilous quietness. She was very haggard, very thin; she wore her
massive, black hair drawn away hideously from brow and temple, and out
of this lean, unshaded face a pair of deep eyes looked drowsily,
dangerously. Her mouth was straightened into an expression of proud
bitterness, her round chin thrust forward; there was a deep, scowling
line that rose from the bridge of her straight, short nose almost to
the roots of her hair. It cut across a splendidly modeled brow. She
was very graceful, if such a bundle of bones might be said to have any
grace. Her pose was arresting. There was a tragic force and attraction
about her.

The man by the door appraised her carefully between his narrowed lids.
He kept in mind the remembered melody of her voice, and, after a few
moments, he strolled across the floor and came up to her.

"Will you dance?" he said.

He had a very charming and subtle smile, a very charming and
sympathetic look. The woman was startled, color rose into her face.
She stared at him.

"I'm not dancing, Mr. Morena," she answered.

"You know my name," smiled Morena; "and I don't know yours. I've been
on Mr. Yarnall's ranch for a month. Why haven't I seen you?"

"Fer not l