As a rule, he took things lightly.
"I think this is mine," he said, as the orchestra recommenced.

"Still, perhaps you have had enough?
I can find you a nice cool place where we can talk." She went with him, because it certainly was uncomfortably warm where she was, and, besides, she was impelled by a certain curiosity to ascertain just how they stood.

He passed through one supper-room into another, and then drew back a heavy curtain from an open window.
"It's quiet, anyway," he said, and they passed out on to a little balcony where, late in the year as it was, a row of potted shrubs cut them off from view.
Below, there were dusky, leafless trees, among which a few big lights gleamed, and the roar of the city came up across them brokenly.

Ida sat down, and a ray of light fell upon her companion, who leaned against the rails.

Gregory Kinnaird was well-favored physically, and bore the stamp of a military training.