The slight duskiness of her cheeks--she had lived for three years in Italy and never worn a veil--pleased him better than the insipidity of pink and white, and the absence of jewelry--she wore neither bracelet nor rings gave her an added touch of distinction, which restless youth finds something so much harder to wear than sedate middle age.

The admiration grew in his eyes.

She was charming.
The lips broke away at last.
"After all," she murmured, "I think that I shall enjoy myself this evening.

You are looking all sorts of nice things at me." "My eyes," he answered, "are more daring than my lips." "And you call yourself a lawyer ?" "Is that a challenge?
Well, I was thinking that you looked charming." "Is that all?
I have a looking-glass, you know." "And I shall miss you--very much." She suddenly avoided his eyes, but it was for a second only.

Yet Brooks was himself conscious of the significance of that second.