She smiled very sweetly, gave her hand, said what the occasion demanded.

Among the women present--all well bred--she suffered no obscurement.

Her voice was tuned to the appropriate harmony; her talk invited to an avoidance of the hackneyed.
Hilliard revived his memories of Gower Place--of the streets of Paris.
Nothing preternatural had come about; nothing that he had not forecasted in his hours of hope.

But there were incidents in the past which this moment blurred away into the region of dreamland, and which he shrank from the effort of reinvesting with credibility.
"This is a pleasant garden." Eve had approached him as he stood musing, after a conversation with other ladies.
"Rather new, of course; but a year will do wonders.

Have you seen the chrysanthemums ?" She led him apart, as they stood regarding the flowers, Hilliard was surprised by words that fell from her.
"Your contempt for me is beyond expression, isn't it ?" "It is the last feeling I should associate with you," he answered.
"Oh, but be sincere.