Had she not been called Hebe or Psyche--or Halcyone--some Greek name?
And gradually his former recollection of her came back, and of their morning in the tree.
"Why, how do you do," he said politely, and Halcyone bowed without speaking.

She felt much as Hans Andersen's Ugly Duckling used to feel, and when John Derringham had said a few ordinary things about her having grown out of all likeness, he turned to the Professor again, and almost forgot her presence.
His talk was most wonderful to listen to, she thought, his language was so polished, and there was a courtesy added to the former vehemence.
They spoke of nothing but politics, which she did not understand, and Cheiron chaffed him a good deal in his kindly cynical way.

He was still fighting his chimeras, it seemed, and fighting them successfully.

As he spoke, Halcyone, behind the teapot, thrilled with a kind of worship.

To be strong and young and manful, and to combat modern dragons, appeared to her to be a god-like task.
In the midst of a heated argument she rose to slip away.