She said she preferred to stand.

She was by the open window, her fingers drumming on the sill.
Though he could not see her face, he knew exactly how she was looking.
"Sit down," he said, rather masterfully.
"I prefer to stand," she repeated languidly.
He had a passionate desire to take her by the shoulders, but put his hand on hers instead, and she permitted it, like one disdainful but helpless.

She said something unimportant about the stillness.
"Is it so still ?" he said in a low voice.

"I seem to hear a great noise.

I think it must be the beating of my heart." "I fancy that is what it is," she drawled.
"Do you hear it ?" "No." "Did you ever hear your own heart beat, Alice ?" "No." He had both her hands now.