She had never heard the silent politician speak so earnestly before.
"It seems to me a clear case of _chercher la femme_," said she.
"That," said Wratislaw with emphasis, "is the needle-point of the whole business.

He has fallen in love with just the wrong sort of woman.
Very pretty, very good, a demure puritanical little Pharisee, clever enough, too, to see Lewie's merits, too weak to hope to remedy them, and too full of prejudice to accept them.

There you have the makings of a very pretty tragedy." "I am so sorry," said the lady.

She was touched by this man's anxiety for his friend, and Mr.Lewis Haystoun, whom she was never likely to meet again, became a figure of interest in her eyes.

She turned to say something more, but Wratislaw, having unburdened his soul to some one, and feeling a little relieved, was watching his chief's face further down the table.