Mrs. Van Kirk was evidently, by at least
twelve years, her husband's junior, and apparently
not very far advanced in the forties. Her
blonde hair, which was freshly crimped, fell
lightly over her smooth, narrow forehead; her
nose, mouth and chin had a neat distinctness of
outline; her complexion was either naturally or
artificially perfect, and her eyes, which were of
the purest blue, had, owing to their near-sightedness,
a certain pinched and scrutinizing look.
This look, which was without the slightest touch
of severity, indicating merely a lively degree of
interest, was further emphasized by three small
perpendicular wrinkles, which deepened and
again relaxed according to the varying intensity
of observation she bestowed upon the object
which for the time engaged her attention.

"Your name, if you please?" said Mrs. Van
Kirk, having for awhile measured her visitor
with a glance of mild scrutiny.

"Halfdan Bjerk."

"Half-dan B----, how do you spell that?"

"B-j-e-r-k."

"B-jerk. Well, but I mean, what is your