If he meant to confuse her, he failed—for she only smiled and said to herself: "They're hazel."
"Of course, of course," murmured Hazel, looking down on the table.
Her eyes were of a gentle hazel, not the hazel that looks black at night.
And after a moment, lifting her hazel eyes to his, she said.
She was pale to the lips, and her hazel eyes were blazing, as she cut into his apologies for Blood.
Her eyes, he had perceived by now, were not blue, but hazel.
“We shall be friends,” she stated, a smile in her hazel eyes.
And the fire in the hazel eyes upraised to his, dried the tears sharply.
Four half-tone illustrations from drawings by Hazel Roberts.
The pine trees took it up, and the hazel copses and the hurrying Shenandoah.