When he was thinking, he always looked as if he were falling asleep, and he seldom made a remark, even to a woman, without thinking it over.

Into his small steel-gray eyes, surrounded by purplish and wrinkled puffs of skin, there crept the cautious and secretive look he wore at directors' meetings, while a furtive smile flickered for an instant across his loose mouth under the drooping ends of his moustache.

His ungainly body, with its curious suggestion of over-ripeness, of waning power, straightened suddenly as if in reaction from certain destructive processes within his soul.

Though he was only just passing his prime, he had lived so rapidly that he bore already the marks of age in his face and figure.
"Yes, it's good to be alive," he assented, for there was nothing in either his philosophy or his experience to contradict this simple statement.

"I've always maintained, by the way, that happiness is the chief of the virtues." For an instant Gabriella looked at the sky; then turning her candid eyes to his, she answered: "Happiness and courage.