The old Harry was there--the smile--the flash in the eyes--the joy of seeing her--the quick movement of his hand in gracious salute; then there had followed a sense of his strength, of the calm poise of his body, of the clearness of his skin.

She saw, too, how much handsomer he had grown,--and noted the rough sailor's clothes.

How well they fitted his robust frame! And the clear, calm eyes and finely cut features--no shrinking from responsibility in that face; no faltering--the old ideal of her early love and the new ideal of her sailor boy--the one Richard's voice had conjured--welded into one personality! "I heard you had just been in to see Uncle George, Kate, and I tried to overtake you." Not much: nothing in fact.

Playwriters tell us that the dramatic situation is the thing, and that the spoken word is as unimportant to the play as the foot-lights--except as a means of illuminating the situation.
"Yes--I have just left him, Harry.

Uncle George looks very badly--don't you think so?
Is there anything very serious the matter?
I sent Ben to Dr.Teackle's, but he was not in his office." He had moved up a chair and sat devouring every vibration of her lips, every glance of her wondrous eyes--all the little movements of her beautiful body--her dress--the way the stray strands of hair had escaped to her shoulders.