mong men with any assurance.
As far as he could he must cut himself off from the past, blot out the
time-honoured prejudices that might or might not be legitimate. He
must settle that score!

Northrup was a tall, lean man with a slant of the body that suggested
resistance. His face, too, carried out the impression. The eyes, deep
set and keenly gray, brooded questioningly when the humour of a
situation did not control them. The mouth was not an architectural
mouth; the lines had been evolved; the mouth was still in the making.
It might become hard or bitter: it could never become cruel. There was
hope in the firm jaw, and the week of outdoor air and sun had done
much to remove the pallor of sickness and harden the muscles.

With every mile that set him apart from his old environment the eyes
grew less gloomy; the lines of the mouth more relaxed: in fact,
Northrup's appearance at that moment might have made Manly sympathize
with the creator of Frankenstein. The released Northrup held startling
possibilities.

Striding ahead, whistling, swinging his stick, he permitted himself to
recall the face of the woman in the yellow house. He had taken the
faces of women in the past largely for granted. They represented
types, ages, periods. Only once before had he become aware of what
Life, as he had not known it, could do to women's faces: While he was
writing his last book--the one that had lifted him from a low literary
level and set him hopefully upon a higher--he had lived, for a time,
on the lower East Side of New York; had confronted the ugly results of
an existence evolved from chance, not design.

But this last face--Life had done something to it that he could not
comprehend. What was it? Then Northrup suddenly concluded that Life
had done nothing to it--had, in fact, left it alone. At this point,
Northrup resorted to detail. Her eyes were almost golden: the lashes
made them seem darker. The face was young and yet it held that
expression of age that often marks the faces of children: a wondering
look, yet sweetly contemptuous: not quite confident, but amused.

Now he had it! The face was like a mirror; it reflected thought and
impression. Life had had nothing to do with it. Very good, so far.

"And her voice! Queer voice to be found here"--Northrup was keen about
voices; they instantly affected him. "Her voice had tones in it that
vibrated. It might be the product of--well, everything which it
probably wasn't."

T