He had never seen anything quite like her.

He might have guessed that she was eighteen, or twenty, or twenty-two.

Her hair, wreathed in shimmering, velvety coils from the back to the crown of her head, struck him as it had struck O'Connor, as unbelievable.

The glory of it gave to her an appearance of height which she did not possess, for she was not tall, and her slimness added to the illusion.
And then, greatly to his embarrassment in the next instant, his eyes went to her feet.

Again O'Connor was right--tiny feet, high-heeled pumps, ravishingly turned ankles showing under a skirt of some fluffy brown stuff or other-- Correcting himself, his face flushed red.