She put her cigarette between her lips, and waited.

Her movements were very quiet and well bred; but perhaps too quiet, they had the dangerous impassivity of the Bohemian, Parisian or American rather than English.
"Cigarette, Julia ?" said Robert to his wife.
She seemed to start or twitch, as if dazed.

Then she looked up at her husband with a queer smile, puckering the corners of her eyes.

He looked at the cigarettes, not at her.

His face had the blunt voluptuous gravity of a young lion, a great cat.