Beauty Stanton retraced her steps.
She would find Neale in one of the other places--the Big Tent,
perhaps.
This hall was unusually crowded, and the scene had the number of
men, though not the women and the hilarity and the gold, that was
characteristic of pay-day in Benton. All the tables in the gambling-
room were occupied.
Beauty Stanton stepped into this crowded room, her golden head
uncovered, white and rapt and strangely dark-eyed, with all the
beauty of her girlhood returned, and added to it that of a woman
transformed, supreme in her crowning hour. As a bad woman,
infatuated and piqued, she had failed to allure Neale to baseness;
now as a good woman, with pure motive, she would win his friendship,
his eternal gratitude.
Stanton had always been a target for eyes, yet never as now, when
she drew every gaze like a dazzling light in a dark room.
As soon as she saw Neale she forgot every one else in that hall. He
was gambling. He did not look up. His brow was somber and dark. She
approached--stood behind him. Some of the players spoke to her,
familiarly, as was her bitter due. Then Neale turned apparently to
bow with his old courtesy. Thrill on thrill coursed over her. Always
he had showed her respect, deference.
Her heart was full. She had never before enjoyed a moment like this.
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