She was in the library writing letters.

She looked, as was usual with her at early morning hours, odd to the verge of ugliness.

It always took her some time to recover from the drowsy influences of the night.

She was dimmed, as it were, with eyelids half awake, and small lips pouting, and she seemed at once more childlike and more worn than later in the day.
Gerald looked at her with satisfaction.

To his observant and appreciative eye, Helen was often at her most charming when at her ugliest.
'I've something to talk over,' he said.