It was the vision of a moment; but in the attitude, the tone, the whole impression, Hope Wayne instinctively felt treachery.
"Yes, let us go in!" she said to Lawrence Newt, as she rose calmly.
Abel had passed.

He could no more have stopped and shaken hands with Hope Wayne than he could have sung like a nightingale.

He could not even raise his head erect as he went by--something very stern and very strong seemed to hold it down.
Miss Plumer's head was also bent; she was waiting to hear the end of that sentence.

She thought society opened beautifully.

Such a handsome fellow in such a romantic spot, beginning his compliments in such a low, rich voice, with his hair almost brushing hers.