How could this beautiful but not very intellectual English girl, with her prejudices and her clumsiness at repartee or argument, ever comprehend or handle delicately so difficult a subject?
I was disappointed in her.

Perhaps this was natural enough, considering that with two such men as we she must be entirely out of her element.
She was of the type of brilliant, healthy, northern girls, who depend more on their animal spirits and enjoyment of living for their happiness than upon any natural or acquired mental powers.

With a horse, or a tennis court, or even a ball to amuse her, she would appear at her very best; would be at ease and do the right thing.

But when called upon to sustain a conversation, such as that into which her curiosity about Isaacs had plunged her, she did not know what to do.

She was constrained, and even some of her native grace of manner forsook her.
Why did she avoid his eyes and resort to such a petty little trick as threading a needle in order to get a look at him?
An American girl, or a French woman, would have seen that her strength lay in perfect frankness; that Isaacs' straightforward nature would make him tell her unhesitatingly anything she wanted to know about himself, and that her position was strong enough for her to look him in the face and ask him what she pleased.