Besides, he is so much in London, and you so much here.

You sit with the distaff; he throws the dice." Hylda's lips tightened a little.

Her own inner life, what Eglington was to her or she to Eglington, was for the ears of no human being, however friendly.

She had seen little of him of late, but in one sense that had been a relief, though she would have done anything to make that feeling impossible.

His rather precise courtesy and consideration, when he was with her, emphasised the distance between "the first fine careless rapture" and this grey quiet.