His eyes are the open doors to his soul; in these she finds her ideals, and in these she revels.

But with Jane every feature was a joy--the way the smoothly cut hair was trimmed about his white temples; the small, well-turned ears lying flat to his head; the lines of his eyebrows; the wide, sensitive nostrils and the gleam of the even teeth flashing from between well-drawn, mobile lips; the white, smooth, polished skin.

Not all faces could boast this beauty; but then not all souls shone as clearly as did Doctor John's through the thin veil of his face.
And she was equally young and beautiful to him.

Her figure was still that of her youth; her face had not changed--he still caught the smile of the girl he loved.

Often, when they had been driving along the coast, the salt wind in their faces, and he had looked at her suddenly, a thrill of delight had swept through him as he noted how rosy were her cheeks and how ruddy the wrists above the gloves, hiding the dear hands he loved so well, the tapering fingers tipped with delicate pink nails.
He could, if he sought them, find many telltale wrinkles about the corners of the mouth and under the eyelids (he knew and loved them all), showing where the acid of anxiety had bitten deep into the plate on which the record of her life was being daily etched, but her beautiful gray eyes still shone with the same true, kindly light, and always flashed the brighter when they looked into his own.