But by herself, she could not refuse--she could not bear to be scowled on--even for a moment.

She must yield--must give herself the luxury of being liked.

It was all of a piece with her weakness towards servants and porters and cabmen--her absurdities in the way of tips and gifts--the kindnesses she had been showing during the last three days to the American girl.

Too kind! Insipidity lay that way.
Manisty returned to his newspapers.

When he had finished them he got up and began to pace the stone terrace, his great head bent forward as usual, as though the weight of it were too much for the shoulders.