Noel, "pale, languid passionate," and the man "moved beyond control." "He drew her so close that he could feel the throbbing of her heart ..." And the other poor woman with the hard lines and marking beneath the light coating of powder, where had she gone?
Jean pushed the book away, and stood leaning on the dressing-table studying her face in the glass.

This was no heroine, "pale, languid, passionate." She saw a fresh-coloured face with a pointed chin, wide-apart eyes as frank and sunny as a moorland burn, an innocent mouth.

It seemed to Jean a very uninteresting face.

She was young, certainly, but that was all--not beautiful, or brilliant and witty.

Lord Bidborough must see scores of lovely girls.