But before she could say a single word he had gone out of the Museum and left her.
Still, a lady of fashion travels with more than one dress, and if white suits the morning hour, perhaps sandy yellow with purple spots on it, a black hat, and a volume of Balzac, suit the evening.

Thus she was arranged on the terrace when Jacob came in.

Very beautiful she looked.
With her hands folded she mused, seemed to listen to her husband, seemed to watch the peasants coming down with brushwood on their backs, seemed to notice how the hill changed from blue to black, seemed to discriminate between truth and falsehood, Jacob thought, and crossed his legs suddenly, observing the extreme shabbiness of his trousers.
"But he is very distinguished looking," Sandra decided.
And Evan Williams, lying back in his chair with the paper on his knees, envied them.

The best thing he could do would be to publish, with Macmillans, his monograph upon the foreign policy of Chatham.

But confound this tumid, queasy feeling--this restlessness, swelling, and heat--it was jealousy! jealousy! jealousy! which he had sworn never to feel again.
"Come with us to Corinth, Flanders," he said with more than his usual energy, stopping by Jacob's chair.