It's natural for Adrian to hate him, I suppose," she added with a heavy sigh.
Mentally she took to comparing this room with Adrian Fellowes' sitting-room overlooking the Thames Embankment, where everything was in perfect taste and order, where all was modulated, harmonious, soigne and artistic.

Yet, somehow, the handsome chambers which hung over the muddy river with its wonderful lights and shades, its mists and radiance, its ghostly softness and greyness, lacked in something that roused imagination, that stirred her senses here--the vital being in her.
It was power, force, experience, adventure.

They were all here.

She knew the signs: the varied interests, the primary emotions, music, art, hunting, prospecting, fighting, gambling.

They were mixed with the solid achievement of talent and force in the business of life.