She had roused herself to be interested in the visit, to talk, to ask questions, to look about her, as they drove into the east, instead of gazing inwards with that introspective glance which had given her eyes of late the beauty of mystery, making them larger and darker than they had been in the old days.
She was exquisitely dressed, in a long cloak of cream lace over an Indian muslin frock, and an airy hat of chiffon and feathers.

She had put on her best for her outing with Robin, her visit to Robin's friend.
It was one of the sweet things she was always doing, with an intention in her own mind to make up for some lack or other which certainly her lover had not felt.

When she alighted in the busy street people stared as though they had seen a white bird of Paradise; and coming into Mary Gray's room with a basket of roses in her hand she looked like a bride.
Now, at least, she wore the pilgrim air.

She looked curiously about the unlikely place which housed the wonderful woman as she set down her roses, then back at Mary herself.

Mary had come to meet her with outstretched hands.