She seemed spiritless, and the charming face held a gravity that was quite foreign to it.

In the searching winter sunlight he could even discern one or two faint lines about the violet-blue eyes, while the curving mouth, with its provocative short upper lip, drooped rather wearily at its corners.
"You're bored stiff," he told her firmly.

"Why don't you run up to town for a few days and see your pals there ?" Nan shrugged her shoulders.
"For the excellent reason that half of them are away, or--or married or something." Only a few days previously she had seen the announcement of Maryon Rooke's marriage in the papers, and although the fact that he was married had now no power to wound her, it was like the snapping of yet another link with that happy, irresponsible, Bohemian life which she and Penelope had shared together.
"Sandy"-- she spoke impetuously.

"After I'm--married, I don't think I shall ever go to London again.

It would be like peeping into heaven.
Then the door would slam and I'd come back--here! I'm out of it now--out of everything.