I'm so sorry'' --this in an absent manner, with
most of her thoughts evidently still upon her work. She rose,
leaned from the window, glanced up the street, then down. She
went on:
``There comes Victor Dorn. He'll lend it to you.''
Along the ragged brick walk at a quick pace the man who had in
such abrupt fashion stormed Jane Hasting's fancy and taken
possession of her curiosity was advancing with a basket on his
arm. He was indeed a man of small stature--about the medium
height for a woman--about the height of Jane Hastings. But his
figure was so well put together and his walk so easy and free
from self-consciousness that the question of stature no sooner
arose than it was dismissed. His head commanded all the
attention--its poise and the remarkable face that fronted it.
The features were bold, the skin was clear and healthy and rather
fair. His eyes--gray or green blue and set neither prominently
nor retreatedly--seemed to be seeing and understanding all that
was going on about him. He had a strong, rather relentless
mouth-- the mouth of men who make and compel sacrifices for their
ambitions.
``Victor,'' cried Selma as soon as he was within easy range of
her voice, ``please lend Miss Hastings a quarter.'' And she
immediately sat down and went to work again, with the incident
dismissed from mind.
The young man--for he was plainly not far beyond thirty--halted
and regarded the young woman on the horse.
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