Two months had not passed since they parted; but the time had set its mark on her.

He looked at her carefully, from the brown, smooth head to the little crossed feet on the floor.

A worn look had grown over the little face, and it made its charm for him stronger.

For pain and time, which trace deep lines and write a story on a human face, have a strangely different effect on one face and another.

The face that is only fair, even very fair, they mar and flaw; but to the face whose beauty is the harmony between that which speaks from within and the form through which it speaks, power is added by all that causes the outer man to bear more deeply the impress of the inner.
The pretty woman fades with the roses on her cheeks, and the girlhood that lasts an hour; the beautiful woman finds her fullness of bloom only when a past has written itself on her, and her power is then most irresistible when it seems going.
From under their half-closed lids the keen eyes looked down at her.