A SCENE FROM THE PHOTOPLAY. He could not contain his satisfaction, but chuckled, and rubbed his hands with delight. “May I ask whether you are staying with friends in town?” he inquired deferentially. “So am I. There is no hidden beast in you, Hoddy. Her voice was soft and singularly musical; but from time to time she uttered old-fashioned words which forced him to grope mentally. The uncanny directness of those gray eyes, the absence of diffidence, the beauty of the face in profile (full, it seemed a little too broad to make for perfect beauty), the mellow voice that came full and free, without hesitance, all combined to mark her as the most unusual young woman he had ever met. But he was a thief, a fugitive from justice. She had thought—What had she thought? That this dependence of women was but an illusion which needed only to be denied to vanish.
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