no soul within to have a key to. Perfect in its outlines and
coloring, it is a delight to gaze upon, just as is a flawless
piece of sculpture, yet the delight is only fleeting. One soon
grows satiated, no matter how beautiful the face may be, because
it is always the same, expressionless and soulless. "Beauty is
only skin deep," said the philosopher, and no truer dictum was
ever uttered. The merely beautiful woman, who possesses only
beauty and nothing else, is kept so busy thinking of her looks,
and is so anxious to observe the impression her beauty makes on
others, that she has neither the time nor the inclination for
matters of greater importance. Sensible men, as a rule, do not
lose their hearts to women whose only assets are their good looks.
They enjoy a flirtation with them, but seldom care to make them
their wives. The marrying man is shrewd enough to realize that
domestic virtues will be more useful in his household economy than
all the academic beauty ever chiselled out of block marble.

Shirley was not beautiful, but hers was a face that never failed
to attract attention. It was a thoughtful and interesting face,
with an intellectual brow and large, expressive eyes, the face of
a woman who had both brain power and ideals, and yet who, at the
same time, was in perfect sympathy with the world. She was fair in
complexion, and her fine brown eyes, alternately reflective and
alert, were shaded by long dark lashes. Her eyebrows were
delicately arched, and she had a good nose. She wore her hair well
off the forehead, which was broader than in the average woman,
suggesting good mentality. Her mouth, however, was her strongest
feature. It was well shaped, but there were firm lines about it
that suggested unusual will power. Yet it smiled readily, and when
it did there was an agreeable vision of strong, healthy-looking