One may hear a nightingale and not mark him; which is a _lese majeste_.
Mrs.Burgoyne's toilette matched the morning.

The grey dress, so fresh and elegant, the broad black hat above the fair hair, the violets dewy from the garden that were fastened at her slender waist, and again at her throat beneath the pallor of the face,--these things were of a perfection quite evident to the critical sense of Edward Manisty.

It was the perfection that was characteristic.

So too was the faded fairness of hair and skin, the frail distinguished look.

So, above all, was the contrast between the minute care for personal adornment implied in the finish of the dress, and the melancholy shrinking of the dark-rimmed eyes.
He watched her, through the smoke wreaths of his cigarette,--pleasantly and lazily conscious both of her charm and her inconsistencies.
'Are you going to take Miss Foster ?' he asked her.
Mrs.Burgoyne laughed.
'I made the suggestion.