Their eyes, the contour of their faces, were alike.

But the fresh Anglo-Saxon complexion of the man was replaced in the woman by a peach-like skin, whilst her hair and eyebrows were darker.
She was strikingly beautiful.

A plain black dress set off a figure that would have caused a sculptor to dream of chiselled marble.
"A passionate, voluptuous woman," thought Brett.

"A woman easily swayed, but never to be compelled, the ready-made heroine of a tragedy." Her first expression was one of polite inquiry, but her glance fell upon Hume.

Her face, prone to betray each fleeting emotion, exhibited surprise, almost consternation.
"You, Davie!" she gasped.
Hume went to meet her.
"Yes, Rita," he said.