Yes, but--he attacked himself--not Emma Vine dressed as he was accustomed to see her; suppose her possessed of all Adela Waltham's exterior advantages.

As his imagination was working on the hint, Adela herself addressed a question to him.

He looked up, he let her voice repeat itself in inward echo.

His ears were still more disagreeably warm.
It was a lovely day--warm enough to dine with the windows open.

The faintest air seemed to waft sunlight from corner to corner of the room; numberless birds sang on the near boughs and hedges; the flowers on the table were like a careless gift of gold-hearted prodigal summer.