One young gentleman, leaning from the upper window of the chemical laboratory, calls, "Hello, Sylvia," and jerks his head out of sight.
Sylvia's chin lifts a trifle, disdainful of the impudence of sophomores.
She has recognized the culprit's voice, and will deal with him later in her own fashion.
Sylvia is olive-skinned and dark of eye.

And they are interesting eyes--those of Sylvia, luminous and eager--and not fully taken in at a glance.

They call us back for further parley by reason of their grave and steady gaze.

There is something appealing in her that takes hold of the heart, and we remember her after she has passed us by.

We shall not pretend that her features are perfect, but their trifling irregularities contribute to an impression of individuality and character.