Is it, Joan ?" "Oh, no.

I think there'll be some surviving remnants," she assured him.
"Then if you'll overlook any discrepancies," pursued Stair, smiling at Errington, "do stay." "Say, rather, if you'll overlook discrepancies," answered Errington, smiling back--there was something infectious about Stair's geniality.
"I'm afraid a boiled shirt is out of the question--unless I go home to fetch it!" Diana stared at him.

Was he really going to stay--to accept the invitation--after all that had occurred?
If he did, she thought scornfully, it was only in keeping with that calm arrogance of his by which he allocated to himself the right to do precisely as he chose, irrespective of convention--or of other people's feelings.
Meanwhile Stair was twinkling humorously across at his visitor.
"If you can bear to eat your dinner without being encased in the regulation starch," he said, "I don't think I should advise risking what remains of it by any further delay." "Then I accept with pleasure," replied Errington.
As he spoke, his eyes sought Diana's once again.

It almost seemed as though they pleaded with her for understanding.

The half-sad, half-bitter mouth smiled faintly, the smile accentuating that upward curve at the corners of the lips which lent such an unexpected sweetness to its stern lines.
Diana looked away quickly, refusing to endorse the Rector's invitation, and, escaping to her own room, she made a hasty toilet, slipping into a simple little black gown open at the throat.