And I'll play the fool and revel in it as long as I can--so there!" Palgrave had picked up the cloak and was holding it unconsciously against his immaculate shirt.

It was the sentimental act of a virtuoso in the art of pleasing women--who are so easily pleased.

At the moment he had achieved forgetfulness of boudoir trickery and so retained almost all his usual assumption of dignity.

Even Joan, with her quick eye for the ridiculous, failed to detect the bathos of his attitude, and merely thought that he was trying to be funny and not succeeding.
It so happened that over Palgrave's shoulder she could see the bold crayon drawing of Martin, brown and healthy and muscular, without an ounce of affectation, an unmistakable man with his nice irregular features and clean, merry eyes.

There was strength and capability stamped all over him, and there was, as well, a pleasing sense of reliability which gained immediate confidence.