It was a head of grace and power, of charm and allurement--of danger.
Dyck was lost in admiration.

He looked at her as one might look at a beautiful thing in a dream.

He did not speak; he only smiled as he gazed into her eyes.

She was the first to speak.
"Well, who are you ?" she asked with a slightly southern accent in her voice, delicate and entrancing.

Her head gave a little modest toss, her fine white teeth caught her lower lip with a little quirk of humour; for she could see that he was a gentleman, and that she was safe from anything that might trouble her.
He replied to her question with the words: "My name?
Why, it's Dyck Calhoun.