There was something northern about him that magnetised her.

In his clear northern flesh and his fair hair was a glisten like sunshine refracted through crystals of ice.

And he looked so new, unbroached, pure as an arctic thing.

Perhaps he was thirty years old, perhaps more.

His gleaming beauty, maleness, like a young, good-humoured, smiling wolf, did not blind her to the significant, sinister stillness in his bearing, the lurking danger of his unsubdued temper.