One could not look at Courtland and not
admire. The fine strength in his handsome young face and figure were
always noticeable among a company anywhere, and here among these
foreigners and wayfarers it was especially so. She was conscious of a
thrill of pleasure in his presence that was new to her. Usually her
attitude was to make others thrill at her presence! No man before had
caught her fancy and held it like this rare one. What secret lay behind
that grave strength of his that made him successfully resist those arts
of hers that had readily lured other victims?
She watched him while he bowed his head in prayer, and noted how his
rich, close-cut hair waved and crept about his temples; noted the curve
of his chin and the curl of his lashes on his cheek. More and more she
coveted him. And she must set herself to find and break this other power
that had him in its clutches. She perfectly recognized the fact that it
was entirely possible that she would not care for him after the other
power was broken, and that she might have to toss him aside after he was
fully hers. But what of that? Had she not so tossed many a hapless soul
that had come like a moth to singe his wings in her candle-flame, then
laughed at him gaily as he lay writhing in his pain; and tossed after
him, torn and trampled, his own ideals of womanhood, too; so that all
other women might henceforth be blighted in his eyes. Ah! What of that,
so that unquenchable flame in her soul, that restlessly pursued and
conquered and cast aside, might be satisfied? Was that not what women
were made for, to conquer men and toss them away? If they did not would
not men conquer them and toss them away? She was but fulfilling her
womanhood as she had been taught to look upon it.
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