She wore white.
Looking at her, I thought it would be strange if Steele's well-known indifference to women did not suffer an eclipse.
"Miss Sampson, here is Vaughn Steele to see you," I said.
"Won't you come in ?" she said graciously.
Steele had to bend his head to enter the door.

I went in with him, an intrusion, perhaps, that in the interest of the moment she appeared not to notice.
Steele seemed to fill the room with his giant form.

His face was fine, stern, clear cut, with blue or gray eyes, strangely penetrating.

He was coatless, vestless.

He wore a gray flannel shirt, corduroys, a big gun swinging low, and top boots reaching to his knees.
He was the most stalwart son of Texas I had seen in many a day, but neither his great stature nor his striking face accounted for something I felt--a something spiritual, vital, compelling, that drew me.
"Mr.Steele, I'm pleased to meet you," said Miss Sampson.