She kept her eyes fixed steadily in front of her, and indeed she spoke without feeling on one side or the other, but rather like a person constraining herself to speech because speech was a necessity.

Nor did she turn to look at Durrance when she had done.
"So she has lost everything ?" said Durrance.
"She still has a home in Donegal," returned Mrs.Adair.
"And that means a great deal to her," said Durrance, slowly.

"Yes, I think you are right." "It means," said Mrs.Adair, "that Ethne with all her ill-luck has reason to be envied by many other women." Durrance did not answer that suggestion directly.

He watched the carriages drive past, he listened to the chatter and the laughter of the people about him, his eyes were refreshed by the women in their light-coloured frocks; and all the time his slow mind was working toward the lame expression of his philosophy.

Mrs.Adair turned to him with a slight impatience in the end.
"Of what are you thinking ?" she asked.
"That women suffer much more than men when the world goes wrong with them," he answered, and the answer was rather a question than a definite assertion.