I'm convinced that her eyes began with a _b_.

They were not, therefore, gray or green, because," he added in a burst of confidence, "it is utterly impossible to spell gray or green with a _b_!" Miss Southerland looked slightly astonished.
"All you can recollect, then, is that the color of her eyes began with the letter _b_ ?" "That is absolutely all I can remember; but I _think_ they _were_--brown." "If they _were_ brown they must be brown now," she observed, looking out of the window.
"That's true! Isn't it curious I never thought of that?
What are you writing ?" "Brown," she said, so briefly that it sounded something like a snub.
"Mouth ?" inquired the girl, turning a new leaf on her pad.
"Perfect.

Write it: there is no other term fit to describe its color, shape, its sensitive beauty, its--_What_ did you write just then ?" "I wrote, 'Mouth, ordinary.'" "I don't want you to! I want--" "Really, Mr.Gatewood, a rhapsody on a girl's mouth is proper in poetry, but scarcely germane to the record of a purely business transaction.
Please answer the next question tersely, if you don't mind: 'Figure ?'" "Oh, I _do_ mind! I can't! Any poem is much too brief to describe her figure--" "Shall we say 'Perfect' ?" asked the girl, raising her brown eyes in a glimmering transition from vexation to amusement.

For, after all, it could be _only_ a coincidence that this young man should be describing features peculiar to herself.
"Couldn't you write, 'Venus-of-Milo-like' ?" he inquired.

"That is laconic." "I could--if it's true.