"O-ho!" mused Keen slowly. "I—think—I understand. Am I wrong, Mr. Gatewood, in surmising that this young lady whom you seek is, in your eyes, very—I may say ideally gifted?"
"She is my ideal," replied the young man, coloring.
"Exactly. And—her general allure?"
"Charming!"
"Exactly; but to be a trifle more precise—if you could give me a sketch, an idea, a mere outline delicately tinted, now. Is she more blond than brunette?"
"Yes—but her eyes are brown. I—I insist on that."
"Why should you not? You know her; I don't," said Keen, laughing. "I merely wished to form a mental picture. . . . You say her hair is—is—"
"It's full of sunny color; that's all I can say."
"Exactly—I see. A rare and lovely combination with brown eyes and creamy skin, Mr. Gatewood. I fancy she might be, perhaps, an inch or two under your height?"
"Just about that. Her hands should be—are beautiful—"