er reflection,
she was anything but unlovely. She studied her wide gray eyes that were
so very gray, that were always alive with light and vivacities, where,
in the surface and depths, always swam thoughts unuttered, thoughts that
sank down and dissolved to give place to other thoughts. The brows were
excellent--she realized that. Slenderly penciled, a little darker than
her light brown hair, they just fitted her irregular nose that
was feminine but not weak, that if anything was piquant and that
picturesquely might be declared impudent.

She could see that her face was slightly thin, that the red of her lips
was not quite so red, and that she had lost some of her quick coloring.
But all that would come back again. Her mouth was not of the rosebud
type she saw in the magazines. She paid particular attention to it. A
pleasant mouth it was, a mouth to be joyous with, a mouth for laughter
and to make laughter in others. She deliberately experimented with it,
smiled till the corners dented deeper. And she knew that when she smiled
her smile was provocative of smiles. She laughed with her eyes alone--a
trick of hers. She threw back her head and laughed with eyes and mouth
together, between her spread lips showing the even rows of strong white
teeth.

And she remembered Billy's praise of her teeth, the night at Germanic
Hall after he had told Charley Long he was standing on his foot. "Not
big, and not little dinky baby's teeth either," Billy had said, "...
just right, and they fit you." Also, he had said that to look at them
made him hungry, and that they were good enough to eat.

She recollected all the compliments he had ever paid her. Beyond all
treasures, these were treasures to her--the love phrases, praises, and
admirations. He had said her skin was cool--soft as velvet, too, and
smooth as silk. She rolled up her sleeve to the shoulder, brushed her
cheek with the white skin for a test, with deep scrutiny examined the
fineness of its texture. And he had told her that she was sweet; that he
hadn't known what it meant when they said a girl was sweet, not until he
had known her. And he had told her that her voice was cool, that it gave
him the feeling her hand did when it rested on his forehead. Her
voice went all through him, he had said, cool and fine, like a wind of
coolness. And he had likened it to the first of the sea breeze setting
in the afternoon after a scorching hot morning. And, also, when
she talked low, tha