But it was all wild.

Even her hair, an amazing glory of tangled curls, was wild in its disorder; she seemed palpitating with that wildness, like a fawn that had been run into a corner--no, not a fawn, but some beautiful creature that could and would fight desperately if need be.

That was his impression.

He was undergoing a smashing of his conceptions of this girl as he had visioned her from the picture, and a readjustment of her as she existed for him now.

And he was not disappointed.