She wore several rings, among which was a brilliant of unusual luster.
Warrington, however, had eyes for nothing but her face.

For the past six months he had noted a subtle change in her, a growing reserve, a thoughtfulness that was slowly veiling or subduing her natural gaiety.
She now evaded him when he suggested one of their old romps in queer little restaurants; she professed illness when he sent for her to join him in some harmless junketing.

She was slowly slipping away from him; no, drifting, since he made no real effort to hold her.

And why had he made no real effort?
Sometimes he thought he could answer this question, and then again he knew that he could not.

Ah, if he only loved her! What a helpmeet: cheerful, resourceful, full of good humor and practical philosophy, a brilliant wit, with all the finished graces of a goddess.