The wonder was that she had turned out so well, that she had been so studious, so determined, so capable.

Was it because she had unusual brain and insight into human nature, and had been wise and practical enough to see that there was a point where restraint must be applied, and so had kept herself free from blame or deserved opprobrium, if not entirely from criticism?
In the day when girls were not in the present sense emancipated, she had the savoir faire and the poise of a married woman of thirty.

Yet she was delicate, fresh, and flower-like, and very amusing, in a way which delighted men; and she did not antagonize women.
Stafford had ruled Byng out of consideration where she was concerned.
He had not heard her father's remark of the night before, "Jasmine will marry that nabob--you'll see." He was, however, recalled to the strange possibilities of life by a note which was handed to Byng as they stood before the club-room fire.
He could not help but see--he knew the envelope, and no other handwriting was like Jasmine's, that long, graceful, sliding hand.

Byng turned it over before opening it.
"Hello," he said, "I'm caught.

It's a woman's hand.