Her grave acquiescence with his most preposterous expression of feeling; her genial laughter, not only with, but, I often felt, at him--though impeccably polite; her innocent questions, which almost invariably led him to say more than he intended--Jeff and I found it all amusing to watch.
He never seemed to recognize that quiet background of superiority.

When she dropped an argument he always thought he had silenced her; when she laughed he thought it tribute to his wit.
I hated to admit to myself how much Terry had sunk in my esteem.

Jeff felt it too, I am sure; but neither of us admitted it to the other.
At home we had measured him with other men, and, though we knew his failings, he was by no means an unusual type.

We knew his virtues too, and they had always seemed more prominent than the faults.

Measured among women--our women at home, I mean--he had always stood high.