A soprano singer nudged the girl at her side; they both glanced at him and tittered, but he did not notice it.
Sylvia knew that he was looking at her, but she never looked at him.
She sat soberly waving a little brown fan before her face; the light curls stirred softly.

She wondered what he thought of them; if he considered them too young for her, and silly; but he did not see them at all.

He had no eye for details.

And neither did she even hear his fine tenor, still sweet and powerful, leading all the other male voices when the choir stood up to sing.

She thought only of Richard himself.
After meeting, when she went down the aisle, several women had spoken to her, inquired concerning her health, and told her, with wondering eyes, that she looked well.