Her voice was uneven and he felt, rather than saw, the suffering plainly written on her face. "Tell me," he began gently, "of him. What does he look like? What sort of man is he?"
"I came away in such a rush that I forgot his picture, else I'd show it to you. I would have sent back for it, only I didn't want my people to think I was silly, and besides, there is no need, I could remember how he looked, and every tone of his voice until a week ago to-night."
"Is he tall?" The war correspondent himself was a trifle over six feet.
"No, not very,—only a little taller than I."
"Smooth-shaven?"
"Yes."
"Dark?"
"Very."
"What does he do?"
"Business in a stuffy office, from nine to six. He spends his evenings with me."