"She considers it a duty to pick holes in poor me--good for my morals, you know." "It must be a somewhat difficult occupation," he returned, bowing awkwardly.
Into Nan's mind flashed the recollection of a supple, expressive, un-English bow, and of a deftness of phrase compared with which Trenby's laboured compliment savoured of the elephantine.

Swiftly she dismissed the memory, irritably chasing it from her mind, for was it not five long, black, incomprehensible weeks since Peter had vanished from her ken?
From the day of the bridge-party at the Edenhall flat, she had neither seen nor heard from him, and during those five silent weeks she had come to recognise the fact that Peter meant much more to her than merely a friend, just as he himself had realised that she was the one woman in the world for him.

And between them, now and always, stood Celia, the woman in possession.
"Well, then, what about Thursday next for going over to the kennels?
Are you disengaged ?" Trenby's voice broke suddenly across her reverie.

She threw him a brilliant smile.
"Yes.

Thursday would do very well." "Agreed, then.