And then, just ere our hands met, a twinkle of--oh--such distant and controlled geniality quickened the many tiny wrinkles in the corner of the eyes; the clear blue of the eyes was suffused by an almost colourful warmth; the face, too, seemed similarly to suffuse; the thin lips, harsh- set the instant before, were as gracious as Bernhardt's when she moulds sound into speech.
So curiously was I affected by this first glimpse of Captain West that I was aware of expecting to fall from his lips I knew not what words of untold beneficence and wisdom.

Yet he uttered most commonplace regrets at the delay in a voice provocative of fresh surprise to me.

It was low and gentle, almost too low, yet clear as a bell and touched with a faint reminiscent twang of old New England.
"And this is the young woman who is guilty of the delay," he concluded my introduction to his daughter.

"Margaret, this is Mr.Pathurst." Her gloved hand promptly emerged from the fox-skins to meet mine, and I found myself looking into a pair of gray eyes bent steadily and gravely upon me.

It was discomfiting, that cool, penetrating, searching gaze.