When her father was present he addressed Colina's ear, her chin or her golden top-knot, never her eyes.
John Gaviller apparently never looked at her either, but Colina knew he was watching her closely.

She was not alarmed.

She had herself well in hand, and there was nothing in her politely smiling, slightly scornful air to give the most anxious parent concern.
Under the jokes, the laughter, and the friendly talk throughout dinner, there were electric intimations that caused Colina's nostrils to quiver.

She loved the smell of danger.
It was no easy matter to keep the conversational bark on an even keel; the rocks were thick on every hand.

Business, politics, and local affairs were all for obvious reasons tabooed.