He had contrived insidiously to detach her conversation from a group to himself, and drew her unconsciously towards a seat where they would be uninterrupted.

"One judges so of people by their tastes in haunts." Lady Ethelrida never spoke of herself as a rule.

She was not in the habit of getting into those--abstract to begin with, and personal to go on with--thrilling conversations with men, which most of the modern young women delight in, and which were the peculiar joy of Lily Opie.
It was because for some unacknowledged reason the financier personally pleased her that she now drifted where he wished.
"Mine are very simple, I fear, nothing for you to investigate," she said gently.
"So I should have thought--" and he again as he had done at dinner permitted himself to look into her eyes, and going on after an imperceptible pause he said softly, "simple, and pure, and sweet ...I always think of you, Lady Ethelrida, as the embodiment of sane things, balanced things--perfection." And his last word was almost a caress.
"I am most ordinary," she said; and she wondered why she was not angry with him, which she quite well could have been.
"It is only perfect balance in all things, if we but know it, which appeals to the sane eye," he went on, pulling himself up.

"All weariness and satiety are caused in emotion; in pleasure in persons, places, or things; by the want of proportion in them somewhere which, like all simple things, is the hardest to find." "Do you make theories about everything, Mr.Markrute ?" she asked, and there was a smile in her eye.
"It is a wise thing to do sometimes; it keeps one from losing one's head." Lady Ethelrida did not answer.

She felt deliciously moved.