Whitford drained his glass, but Blanche did not so much as wet her lips.

Her face had grown paler.
"If you do not take me out, I must go alone," she said, in a voice that made itself felt.

There was in it a quiver of pain and a pulse of indignation.
Lovering lost nothing of this.

As his college friend made his way from the room with Blanche on his arm, he stood for a moment in an attitude of deep thought, then nodded two or three times and said to himself: "That's how the land lies.

Wine in and wit out, and Blanche troubled about it already.