There's lots of little things can be said, and lots--" She stopped, puzzled.

Mary Vertrees had gone from pale to scarlet, and now, still scarlet indeed, she rose, without a word of explanation, or any other kind of word, and walked slowly to the open door and out of the room.
Sibyl was a little taken aback.

She supposed Mary had remembered something neglected and necessary for the instruction of a servant, and that she would return in a moment; but it was rather a rude excess of absent-mindedness not to have excused herself, especially as her guest was talking.

And, Mary's return being delayed, Sibyl found time to think this unprefaced exit odder and ruder than she had first considered it.
There might have been more excuse for it, she thought, had she been speaking of matters less important--offering to do the girl all the kindness in her power, too! Sibyl yawned and swung her muff impatiently; she examined the sole of her shoe; she decided on a new shape of heel; she made an inventory of the furniture of the room, of the rugs, of the wall-paper and engravings.

Then she looked at her watch and frowned; went to a window and stood looking out upon the brown lawn, then came back to the chair she had abandoned, and sat again.