He read on.

The lamp threw the light on the scarred side of his face.
He heard some one enter, and his gaze stole over the top of his book.
This person was a woman, and her eyes traveled from object to object with a curiosity tinged with that incertitude which attacks us all when we enter an unfamiliar room.

She was dressed in black, showing the white arms and neck.

Her hair was like ripe wheat after a rain-storm: oh, but he knew well the color of her eyes, blue as the Adriatic.

She was a woman of perhaps thirty, matured, graceful, handsome.