As Miss Maclaire stood with back toward the window, she presented the same youthful appearance, the same slenderness of figure, the same contour of face.
"Miss Christie Maclaire ?" he asked, as though in doubt.
"Yes," graciously, won instantly by the man's appearance and manner, "you wished to see me?
Will you be seated ?" He crossed the narrow room to the stiff-backed chair indicated, and the lady sank negligently down into her own, resting her head against a pillow, and regarding him expectantly.

He could view her now much more distinctly, observing the slight difference in age, the fuller lips, the darker shade of the hair, and the varied expression of the eyes.

It was as if a different soul looked forth from the same face.

He had never before realized how little, apparently trifling, details marked the human countenance, and, embarrassed by her own scrutiny, his glance swept about the room.

Misunderstanding this shifting of eyes, Miss Christie sought to place the man more at ease.
"The room is a perfect fright," she observed briskly, "but what can one expect in these mushroom towns?
Really I had never been here before, or I shouldn't have come.