She submitted, still with her pure, trusting smile, in which there was something ineffably passive.

She liked him--she had liked him all the while; now anything might happen! She was ready--she had been ready always, waiting for him to speak.

If he had not spoken she would have waited for ever; but when the word came she dropped like the peach from the shaken tree.
Rosier felt that if he should draw her toward him and hold her to his heart she would submit without a murmur, would rest there without a question.

It was true that this would be a rash experiment in a yellow Empire salottino.

She had known it was for her he came, and yet like what a perfect little lady she had carried it off! "You're very dear to me," he murmured, trying to believe that there was after all such a thing as hospitality.
She looked a moment at her hand, where he had kissed it.