Lord Fordyce found himself dressing in the usual way and with the usual care, such creatures of habit are we--and yet, two hours earlier, he had felt that life was over for him.

Although he did not know it, Moravia had been like a strong restorative applied at the right moment, and the crisis of his agony had gone by.

It was not that he was not still overcome by sorrow, or that moments of complete anguish would not recur, but the current had been diverted from taking a fatal turn, and gradually things would mend.

The perfect, practical common sense of Moravia was so good for him.

She was not intellectual like Sabine, she was just a dear, beautiful, kind, ordinary woman, extremely in love with him, but too truly American ever to lose her head, and now in real spirits at the prospect of playing so delightful a game.