It was difficult to realize she was his own daughter, this dashing stranger sitting here, playing idly with a knife and caressing him with her voice and her eyes.

The blue evening gown she was wearing to-night (doubtless not yet paid for) made her figure even more supple and lithe, set off her splendid bosom, her slender neck, her creamy skin.

Her hair, worn low over her temples, was brown with just a tinge of red.

Her eyes were black, with gleaming lights; her lips were warm and rich, alive.

He did not approve of her lips.