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Looking in the mirror
He got up and tried to see himself in the dirty looking glass over the wash-stand. He saw the head and face of a young fellow of twenty. Above a square-domed forehead he saw a mop of brown hair, nut-brown, with a wave to it and hints of curls, making hands tingle to stroke it. But he passed it by, and dwelt long and thoughtfully on the high square forehead. What kind of brain lay behind it?
He wondered if there was soul in those steel-gray eyes that were often quite blue of colour and that were strong with the salty air of the sea. Well, they were honest eyes, he concluded. The brown sunburn of his face surprised him.
His mouth might have been an angel's mouth, had not the full, sensuous lips, a habit of drawing firmly across the teeth. At times so tightly did they draw, the mouth became stern and harsh. The chin and jaw were strong and just hinting of square aggressiveness. And between the lips were teeth that were white and strong and regular.

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