He was surprised to find not the slightest trace of negroid blood apparent, though he knew that a mixture of the sixteenth degree often left no trace until its sudden reversion to a black child.
Her hair was the deep brown of his own in young manhood, the eyes large and tender in their rich blue depths—the eyes of innocence, intelligence, sincerity. The lips were full and fluted, and the chin marked with an exquisite dimple that gave a childlike wistfulness to a face that without it might have suggested too much strength.
Her neck was slightly curved and set on full, strong shoulders with an unconscious grace. The bust was slight and girlish, the arms and figure rounded and beautiful in their graceful fullness.
Her walk, when she took the first few steps into the room and paused, he saw was the incarnation of rhythmic strength and perfect health.
But her voice was the climax of her appeal—low, vibrant, quivering with feeling and full of a subtle quality that convinced the hearer from the first moment of the truth and purity of its owner.
She smiled with evident embarrassment at his silence. He was stunned for the moment and simply couldn't speak.
"So, I see you at last, Major Norton!" she said as the color slowly stole over her face.
He recovered himself, walked quickly to meet her and extended his hand:
"I must apologize for not seeing you earlier this morning," he said gravely. "I was up all night travelling through the country and slept very late."
As her hand rested in his the girl forgot her restraint and wounded pride at the cold and doubtful reception he had given earlier. Her heart suddenly beat with a desire to win this grave, strong man's love and respect.