You'll be up some time perhaps--luncheon to-morrow ?--or Sunday ?" "If I can.

I'll do my best." "Kind Cynthia!" But his tone was perfunctory, and his eyes avoided her.
When he had gone, she could only wonder what she had done to offend him; and a certain dreariness crept into the evening light.

She was not the least in love with Philip--that she assured herself.

But his sudden changes of mood were very trying to one who would like to be his friend.
Buntingford walked rapidly home.

His way lay through an oak wood, that was now a revel of spring; overhead, a shimmering roof of golden leaf and wild cherry-blossom, and underfoot a sea of blue-bells.