"Please continue, Captain Harren." "All right, then.

Here's the beginning of it: Three years ago, here in New York, drifting along Fifth Avenue with the crowd, I looked up to encounter the most wonderful pair of eyes that I ever beheld--that any living man ever beheld! The most--wonderfully--beautiful--" He sat so long immersed in retrospection that the Tracer said: "I am listening, Captain," and the Captain woke up with a start.
"What was I saying?
How far had I proceeded ?" "Only to the eyes." "Oh, I see! The eyes were dark, sir, dark and lovely beyond any power of description.

The hair was also dark--very soft and thick and--er--wavy and dark.

The face was extremely youthful, and ornamental to the uttermost verges of a beauty so exquisite that, were I to attempt to formulate for you its individual attractions, I should, I fear, transgress the strictly rigid bounds of that reticence which becomes a gentleman in complete possession of his senses." "_Ex_actly," mused the Tracer.
"Also," continued Captain Harren, with growing animation, "to attempt to describe her figure would be utterly useless, because I am a practical man and not a poet, nor do I read poetry or indulge in futile novels or romances of any description.

Therefore I can only add that it was a figure, a poise, absolutely faultless, youthful, beautiful, erect, wholesome, gracious, graceful, charmingly buoyant and--well, I cannot describe her figure, and I shall not try." "_Ex_actly; don't try." "No," said Harren mournfully, "it is useless"; and he relapsed into enchanted retrospection.
"Who was she ?" asked Mr.Keen softly.
"I don't know." "You never again saw her ?" "Mr.Keen, I--I am not ill-bred, but I simply could not help following her.