He had lost Ethne.

He watched her and looked in vain amongst her guests, as indeed he surely knew he would, for a fit comparison.
There were women, pretty, graceful, even beautiful, but Ethne stood apart by the particular character of her beauty.

The broad forehead, the perfect curve of the eyebrows, the great steady, clear, grey eyes, the full red lips which could dimple into tenderness and shut level with resolution, and the royal grace of her carriage, marked her out to Feversham's thinking, and would do so in any company.

He watched her in a despairing amazement that he had ever had a chance of owning her.
Only once did her endurance fail, and then only for a second.

She was dancing with Feversham, and as she looked toward the windows she saw that the daylight was beginning to show very pale and cold upon the other side of the blinds.
"Look!" she said, and Feversham suddenly felt all her weight upon his arms.