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In the high silver radiance of his idealism, the warmer green of earth, the promise of Narcisa's delicate charm, the young desire in his blood, were, he felt, far away, dim ... below. The conviction fastened upon him that this chance realization would determine, where women were concerned, the whole of his life.
Narcisa's skirt had been lowered and her hair, which had hung like a black fan, was tied with a ribbon. "How do you like me?" she demanded. But when he told her very much, she shook her head in denial. "I ought to be ashamed," she added, "but I am not. Did you realize that, when we were out here before, I made you a proposal?
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