and was temporarily erased; the lightness of
her lips eased a little; the tenseness relaxed from her face, as it
does from one who sleeps.

But the music changed, and her mood changed with it. She did not know
that this was because the story pictured upon the screen had changed,
but she sat up straight and opened her eyes, and felt almost as though
she had just awakened from a vivid dream.

A Mexican series of educational pictures were being shown. Jean
looked, and leaned forward with a little gasp. But even as she fixed
her eyes and startled attention upon it, that scene was gone, and she
was reading mechanically of refugees fleeing to the border line.

She must have been asleep, she told herself, and had gotten things
mixed up in her dreams. She shook herself mentally and remembered that
she ought to take off her hat; and she tried to fix her mind upon the
pictures. Perhaps she had been mistaken; perhaps she had not seen what
she believed she had seen. But--what if it were true? What if she had
really seen and not imagined it? It couldn't be true, she kept telling
herself; of course, it couldn't be true! Still, her mind clung to that
instant when she had first opened her eyes, and very little of what she
saw afterwards reached her brain at all.

Then she had, for the first time in her life, the strange experience of
seeing herself as others saw her. The screen announcement and
expectant stir that greeted it caught her attention, and pulled her
back from the whirl of conjecture into which she had been plunged. She
watched, and she saw herself ride up to the foreground on Pard. She
saw herself look straight out at the audience with that peculiar little
easing of the lips and the lightening of the eyes which was just the
infectious beginning of a smile. Involuntarily she smiled back at her
pictured self, just as every one else was smiling back. For that, you
must know, was what had first endeared her so to the public; the human
quality that compelled instinctive response from those who looked at
her. So Jean in the loge smiled at Jean on the screen. Then
Lite--dear, silent, long-legged Lite!--came loping up, and pushed back
his hat with the gesture that she knew so well, and spoke to her and
smiled; and a lump filled the throat of Jean in the loge, though she
could not have told why. Then Jean on the screen turned and went
riding with Lite back down the trail, with her hat tilted over one eye
because