Come out of that." Though Mrs.Nevill Tyson set her little teeth very hard, the corners of her mouth and eyes curled with mischief.

It was delicious to feel that she could torment Nevill, to know that she had so much power.

And while she pretended to read she played with the pearl necklace she wore.

It was one shade with the white of her beautiful throat.
"Who gave you those pearls ?" She made no answer, but her hand dropped a little consciously.

He had given them to her that afternoon, remarking, with rather questionable taste, that they were "a wedding-present for the second Mrs.Nevill Tyson." He leant over her chair and assailed her with questions to which no answer came, to which no answer was possible, punctuating his periods with kisses.
"Are you a conundrum?
Or a fiend?
Or a metaphysical system?
And if so, why do you wear a pink frock! Are you a young woman who prefers a dead poet to a living husband?
Are you a young woman at all?
Or only a dear little, sweet little, pink little strawberry iceberg ?" He lay down on the sofa as if overcome by unutterable fatigue.