If he enjoyed it, he was quite right to go.

_She_ was going to enjoy her work in Uncle Charles's studio.
Meadows broke out into an angry attack on her folly and unkindness.

But the more he lost his temper, the more provokingly Doris kept hers.

She sat there, surrounded by his socks and shirts, a trim, determined little figure--declining to admit that she was angry, or jealous, or offended, or anything of the kind.

Would he please come upstairs and give her his last directions about his packing?
She thought she had put everything ready; but there were just a few things she was doubtful about.
And all the time she seemed to be watching another Doris--a creature quite different from her real self.