It was a loveliness greater than he had imagined was permitted by the Almighty to His creatures.

The little face was more square than oval, with a low broad brow and proud exquisite eyebrows.

The eyes were of a colour which he could never decide on; afterwards he used to allege obscurely that they were the colour of everything in Spring.
There was a delicate pallor in the cheeks, and the face bore signs of suffering and care, possibly even of hunger; but for all that there was youth there, eternal and triumphant! Not youth such as he had known it, but youth with all history behind it, youth with centuries of command in its blood and the world's treasures of beauty and pride in its ancestry.

Strange, he thought, that a thing so fine should be so masterful.

He felt abashed in every inch of him.
As the eyes rested on him their sorrowfulness seemed to be shot with humour.