We found at once and went right away." And he launched out into an enthusiastic description of the day's sport.
Nan listened patiently.

She wasn't in the least interested, really, but she had been trying very hard latterly not to let Roger pay for what had been her own blunder--not to let him pay even in the small things of daily life.

So she feigned an interest she was far from feeling and discussed the day's hunting with snatches of melody from the concerto running through her mind all the time.
The man and woman offered a curious contrast as they talked; he, big, virile, muddied with his day in the saddle, an aroma of mingled damp and leather exuding from his clothes as they steamed in front of the fire--she, slim, silken-clad, delicately wrought by nature and over-finely strung by reason of the high-pitched artist's life she had led.
Roger himself seemed suddenly struck by the contrast.
"By Jove!" he exclaimed, surveying her rather ruefully.

"We're a pretty fair example of beauty and the beast, aren't we ?" Nan looked back at him composedly--at the strong, ugly face and far-visioned eyes.
"Not in the least," she replied judicially.

"We're--different, that's all.