The uncanny directness of those gray eyes, the absence of diffidence, the beauty of the face in profile (full, it seemed a little too broad to make for perfect beauty), the mellow voice that came full and free, without hesitance, all combined to mark her as the most unusual young woman he had ever met. Jackson. She passed people in the streets and regarded them with a quickening apprehension, once or twice came girls dressed in slatternly finery, going toward Regent Street from out these places. He found himself thinking up all the psychology which he had ever read. He was reaching wearily for some kind of buffer to his harrying conscience. Their idea of maidenly innocence was just a blank white—the sort of flat white that doesn’t shine.
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