The eyes were almond-shaped, and slightly sloping downward and inward--deep, passionate blue eyes set in a Mongolian head.

It was the face of a woman who could, morally speaking, make mincemeat of nine young men out of ten.

But she could not have made one out of the number love her.

For it has been decreed that women shall win love--except in some happy exceptions--by beauty only.
The same unwritten law has it that a man's appearance does not matter--a law much appreciated by some of us, and duly canonized by not a few.
The girl was evidently listening.

She glanced at a little golden clock on the mantel-piece, and then at the open window.