Above a square-domed forehead he saw a mop of brown hair, nut-brown, with a wave to it and hints of curls that were a delight to any woman, making hands tingle to stroke it and fingers tingle to pass caresses through it.

But he passed it by as without merit, in Her eyes, and dwelt long and thoughtfully on the high, square forehead,--striving to penetrate it and learn the quality of its content.
What kind of a brain lay behind there?
was his insistent interrogation.
What was it capable of?
How far would it take him?
Would it take him to her?
He wondered if there was soul in those steel-gray eyes that were often quite blue of color and that were strong with the briny airs of the sun- washed deep.

He wondered, also, how his eyes looked to her.

He tried to imagine himself she, gazing into those eyes of his, but failed in the jugglery.

He could successfully put himself inside other men's minds, but they had to be men whose ways of life he knew.