d most of the women I know can't
say that."

And she remembered her father's perfectly ridiculous suggestion that
perhaps the man so wronged by him had lifted his eyes to herself. The
idea no longer seemed ridiculous; but quite possible and equally
dreadful. She made up her mind that she would sacrifice her immediate
chances of recognition and fame and tell the beggar to discontinue his
visits. Then she withdrew the cloth from her work, and it seemed to her
that what she had made was alive and had about it a certain sublimity,
and that to surrender now was beyond her strength. She had a moment of
exultation, and she thought: "In a hundred years my body will be dust.
It doesn't matter what becomes of it now or hereafter; but people will
gather in front of this head, and artists will come from all over the
world to see it. And there will be plaster casts of it in city museums
and village libraries. And I suppose I'm the most conceited idiot in the
world, but--but it's good. I _know_ it's good!"

She had forgotten West, and Allen, and Blizzard, so that when the
first-named knocked, she had some ado to come out of the clouds and
recall what they had been talking about. Then, not wishing to drive West
into a lie, she said only:

"Have you the man's description?"

"He is not," said West gravely, "a man in your station in life. He is,
I imagine, some young fellow to whom, in passing, you have been
carelessly gracious."

"Is he handsome?" Mischief had returned to her mind.

"He is only bigger and stronger than usual."

"Dark or light?"

"Medium."

"And how long did it take you to find out all these interesting items?"

"Twelve minutes," said West gravely.

"By the clock?"

"By a dollar watch.... Miss Ferris, I haven't done right. I'm not doing
right."

This came very suddenly. He had lowered his fine head and was frowning,

"I'm the man who's been sending you flowers. I didn't know it was wrong.
I'm not a gentleman. But once I'd seen you, I could never see flowers
without thinking of you, so I kept sending them, hoping that they would
give you pleasure for their own sake. I had no business even to look at
you. To win the kind of race I'm up against, a man ought to keep his
eyes in the boat, and not look right or left till his race is won or
lost. And even then it ought to be right or left that he looks, and not
up, and certainly not down. I didn't keep my eyes in the boat. I looked
up, 'way up, and saw you, a