His was a nature, because of the ambition imposed on it, that had never taken more than a casual interest in the form and feature of women.

He had looked on beautiful faces and had admired them in a cool, dispassionate way, judging them--when he judged at all--as he might have judged the more material workmanship of his own hands.

But this face that was framed for a few brief moments in the door reached out to him and stirred an interest within him which was as new as it was pleasurable.

It was a beautiful face.

He knew that in a fraction of the first second.