His blood pulsed swiftly through his veins and he felt a strange exhilaration as he stepped slightly aside and rested a hand on the desk top, leering at the girl.
She returned his gaze and evidently divined something of what was in his mind, for her chin lifted a little in defiance.

The flickering light from the candle fell on her hair, brown and wavy, and in a tumble of graceful disorder, and threw into bold relief the firm lines of her chin and throat.

She was not beautiful, but she certainly merited the term "pretty," which formed on Calumet's lips as he gazed at her, though it remained unspoken.

He gave her this tribute grudgingly, conscious of the deep impression she was making upon him.

He had never seen a woman like her--for the reason, perhaps, that he had studiously avoided the good ones.