His monocle, which had been in his eye, fell out of it, and he picked it up by its thin cord and replaced it.
"Psyche!" she heard him say in his odd voice, which seemed merely to make a statement without committing him to an opinion--"Psyche!" He did not say it to her or to any one else.

It was simply a kind of exclamation,--appreciative and perceptive without being enthusiastic,--and it was curious.

He talked to Agatha nearly all the evening.
Emily came to Lady Agatha before she retired, looking even a little flushed.
"What are you going to wear at the treat to-morrow ?" she asked.
"A white muslin, with _entre-deux_ of lace, and the gauze garden-hat, and a white parasol and shoes." Lady Agatha looked a little nervous; her pink fluttered in her cheek.
"And to-morrow night ?" said Emily.
"I have a very pale blue.

Won't you sit down, dear Miss Fox-Seton ?" "We must both go to bed and sleep.

You must not get tired." But she sat down for a few minutes, because she saw the girl's eyes asking her to do it.
The afternoon post had brought a more than usually depressing letter from Curzon Street.