If I make up my mind to do a thing, I do it; if I make up my mind to get a thing, I get it.
It means hard work sometimes, but that is all." For the first time, a really natural interest shone out of her eyes.
The half sulky contempt with which she had received his advances passed away.

She became at that moment a human being, self-forgetting, the heritage of her charms--for she really had a curious but very poignant attractiveness--suddenly evident.

It was only a momentary lapse and it was entirely wasted.

Not even one of the waiters happened to be looking that way, and Tavernake was thinking wholly of himself.
"It is a good deal to say--that," she remarked, reflectively.
"It is a good deal but it is not too much," he declared.

"Every man who takes life seriously should say it." Then she laughed--actually laughed--and he had a vision of flashing white teeth, of a mouth breaking into pleasant curves, of dark mirth-lit eyes, lustreless no longer, provocative, inspiring.