I am never glib with strangers, and I throw in a word only now and then, all my attention and observation having passed into my eyes.

A plain woman, indeed! I have always been convinced of the unbecomingness of church, but _now_ more than ever am I fully persuaded of it.

And yet she is not pretty! Her mouth is very wide, that is perhaps why she so rarely laughs; her nose cannot say much for itself; her cheeks are thin, and I _think_--nay, let me tell truth--I _hope_ that in a low gown she would be _scraggy_, so slight even to meagreness is she! But how thoroughly made the most of! What a shapeless pin-cushion fit my gown seems beside the admirable French sit of hers! How hard, how metallic its tint beside the indefinite softness of that sweep of smoke-color! What a stiff British erection my hair feels beside the careless looseness of these shining twists! What a fine, slight hand, as if cut in faint gray stone! At each fresh detail that I note, Musgrave's anecdote gains ever more and more probability; and my heart sinks ever lower and more low.
_One_ hope remains to me.

Perhaps she may be stupid! Certainly she is not _affording_.
How heavily poor Barbara is driving through the fine weather and the _Times_! and how little more than "yes" and "no" does she get! I take heart.

Roger loves people who talk--people who are merry and make jests.
It was my most worthless gabble that first drew him toward me.