From her, too close-fibred, too resisting, to admit the breath of Nature, only a dry rustle came.
Still almost exotic, in spite of her centuries of sojourn, and now brought to life by the eyes of night, she seemed almost terrifying, in her narrow, spear-like austerity, as though something had dried and died within her soul.

Barbara came back from the window.
"We can't do anything in our lives, it seems to me," she said, "but play at taking risks!" Lord Dennis replied dryly: "I don't think I understand, my dear." "Look at Mr.Courtier!" muttered Barbara.

"His life's so much more risky altogether than any of our men folk lead.

And yet they sneer at him." "Let's see, what has he done ?" "Oh! I dare say not very much; but it's all neck or nothing.

But what does anything matter to Harbinger, for instance?
If his Social Reform comes to nothing, he'll still be Harbinger, with fifty thousand a year." Lord Dennis looked up a little queerly.
"What! Is it possible you don't take the young man seriously, Babs ?" Barbara shrugged; a strap slipped a little off one white shoulder.
"It's all play really; and he knows it--you can tell that from his voice.