But there's something else about him. He seems cheerful, but there is some melancholy about him. Maybe some sadness inside him that he will not allow to surface. There is definitely something he is keeping hidden from others, and maybe even trying to keep from himself. The mystery began to intrigue her.
He seemed to study her, while she studied him. What Stephen Collier saw was a strikingly beautiful dark-haired young woman in her young twenties. Her face looked healthy, with color from the wind and sun rather than make-up. He didn't care for women who put on much powder, rouge, lipstick or other make-up.
He loved going to the movies. At just the first sight of Barbara as she had approached at the riding stables, she reminded him of someone he had recently seen on the screen. He thought she had the same youthful, unpainted natural beauty of Ingrid Bergman, the refreshing Swedish actress, in her American debut, the romantic film, Intermezzo. She was like a breath of fresh air on the screen, and so had he thought of Barbara as she entered his office.
Of medium height, even in sporty winter clothes -- cardigan sweater and woolen skirt -- she looked to him to be athletically trim and, he thought, she must have a pretty terrific body. He especially liked the way she carried herself when she walked or stood, and even when she sat as she then did in the chair on the other side of his desk. She had more poise than any young woman under thirty he had ever seen. Proud and self-confident, yet not formal but casual.
Best of all, he liked the way she balanced the apparently conflicting sides of her nature. She might appear outwardly to be the most self-assured and independent of women, yet just a hint of vulnerability showed through. He liked that a lot.
Stephen Collier thought she had not been raised in a convent or a pampered rich home. Life had not always been kind or gentle to her, making her skeptical. Yet he thought something of the innocent girl had remained, making her still a little trusting. Maybe instead of trusting, he quickly substituted the word hopeful. She was, he thought, hopeful of finding decency and honesty and trust in a man. Someone had put it there once, he thought. But others, probably men, had taken it away from her.
"I've asked to see you about Tim," Stephen said, sounding concerned and yet friendly. "I hope you don't think I'm prying, or becoming too personal. But you see, I don't see myself as just his counselor, but his friend."