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Nor would she ever be exactly that same Wanda Leland again. Revelation had been lightning, two-tongued. It showed her herself; it explained, it touched with light, it made distinct the shadowy things that had long lain in her breast. And it showed her Wayne Shandon as she had never seen him. For years they had been playfellows, frank, almost boyish, both of them.
"The redman is never two-faced or two-tongued." "Well," grumbled Jennie, afterward, "what answer was there to make to that? She has her own opinion of Lo, the poor Indian, and it would be impossible to shake it." "Who wants to shake it?" demanded Helen. "Maybe she is right, at that!"
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