I can assure you that I am not used to tete-a-tete luncheons with guests who insist upon having their own way in everything." "I wonder if it is a good thing for you to be so much your own mistress," he reflected.
"You must judge by results.

I always have been--at least since I decided to lead this sort of life." "Why have you never married ?" he asked her, a little abruptly.
"We discussed that before, didn't we?
I suppose because the right man has never asked me." "Perhaps," he ventured, "the right man isn't able to." "Perhaps there isn't any right man at all--perhaps there never will be." The minutes ticked away.

The room, with its mingled perfumes and pleasant warmth, its manifold associations with her wholesome and orderly life, seemed to have laid a sort of spell upon him.

She was leaning back in her corner of the lounge, her hands hanging over the sides, her eyes fixed upon the burning log.

She herself was so abstracted that he ventured to let his eyes dwell upon her, to trace the outline of her slim but powerful limbs, to admire her long, delicate feet and hands, the strong womanly face, with its kindly mouth and soft, almost affectionate eyes.