They had just dined, and Paul had followed his wife into the drawing-room.

He took a simple-minded delight in her beauty, which was of the description that is at its best in a gorgeous setting.

He stood looking at her, noting her grace, her pretty, studied movements.

There were, he reflected, few women more beautiful--none, in his own estimation, fit to compare with her.
She had hitherto been sweetness itself to him, enlivening his lonely existence, shining suddenly upon his self-contained nature with a brilliancy that made him feel dull and tongue-tied.
Already, however, he was beginning to discover certain small differences, not so much of opinion as of thought, between Etta and himself.

She attached an importance to social function, to social opinion, to social duties, which he in no wise understood.