She wasn't a person with whom, after all, one got on so very fast: it had taken him months and months to learn her name, years and years to learn her address.

If she had looked, on this reunion, so much older to him, how in the world did he look to her?
She had reached the period of life he had long since reached, when, after separations, the marked clock-face of the friend we meet announces the hour we have tried to forget.

He couldn't have said what he expected as, at the end of his waiting, he turned the corner where for years he had always paused; simply not to pause was a efficient cause for emotion.

It was an event, somehow; and in all their long acquaintance there had never been an event.

This one grew larger when, five minutes later, in the faint elegance of her little drawing-room, she quavered out a greeting that showed the measure she took of it.