The June sunset was blazing on the glacier without.

Would he next offer to put a shawl over her, and tuck her up?
She retreated hastily to the writing-table, one hand upon it.

He saw the lines of her gray dress, her small neck and head; the Quakerish smoothness of her brown hair, against the light.

The little figure was grace, refinement, embodied.

But it was a grace that implied an environment--the cosmopolitan, luxurious environment, in which such women naturally move.
His look clouded.