Maggie Delafield had, perhaps, that spark in the brain for which we have but an ugly word.

We call it "pluck." And by it we are enabled to win a losing game--and, harder still, to lose a losing game--without much noise or plaint.
Whatever this girl's joys or sorrows may have been--and pray you, madam, remember that no man ever knows his neighbor's heart!--she succeeded as well as any in concealing both.

There are some women who tell one just enough about themselves to prove that they can understand and sympathize.

Maggie was of these; but she told no more.
She was alone when Paul came into the room.

It was a large room, with more than one fire-place.