He was fascinated by her naked, shapely arm; it was
slender at the wrist, and surprisingly round above, at
a soft, brown shadow. He was seized by a desire
to touch it, and he held her pointed elbow while he
examined the bruises more minutely. "That's bad,"
he pronounced; "on that pretty skin, too." He was
confused by the close proximity of her bare flesh, the
pulse in his neck beat visibly.

For a moment she stood motionless; then, with her
eyes half-closed, sulky, she drew away from him and
rearranged her sleeve.

The brush ended on a slope where pine trees had
covered the ground with a glossy mat of bronzed
needles; and his companion sank to a sitting position
with her back against a trunk. They were outside
the influence of the camp meeting, beyond its
unnatural excitation. The pine trees were black
against the brilliant day; they might have been cast
in iron, there was no suggestion of growth in the
dun covering below; it was as seasonless where they
sat as the sea; the air, faintly spiced and still, seemed
to have lain unchanged through countless ages.

Meta Beggs sat motionless, with a look of inexpressible
boredom on her pale countenance. Her
hands, Gordon thought, were like folded buds of the
mountain magnolia.

She said, unexpectedly, "You're rich now, aren't
you, one of the richest men in the county?"

[[193]]

p192 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p193w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p194

v?