But her eyes were clear, and her hair glowed softly, so softly that he would never forget it, as she stood there with her back against the door, nor the strange desire that came to him--even then--to touch it with his hand.
He nipped off the end of his cigar and lighted a match.

"It is Rossland," he said.

"You're afraid of Rossland ?" "In a way, yes; in a large way, no.

I would laugh at Rossland if it were not for the other." The _other_! Why the deuce was she so provokingly ambiguous?
And she had no intention of explaining.

She simply waited for him to decide.
"What other ?" he demanded.
"I can not tell you.