But she was entering her twenty-seventh year and knew enough of life to see that she must not be too fastidious or show herself too difficult to please.
Hippolyte Ceres was celebrated; Hippolyte Ceres was happy.

He was no longer recognisable; the elegance of his clothes and deportment had increased tremendously.

He wore an undue number of white gloves.

Now that he was too much of a society man, Eveline began to doubt if it was not worse than being too little of one.

Madame Clarence regarded the engagement with favour.