She liked this big man with his halting tongue and quiet ways.

She liked his awkward attempts to conciliate the coquette Xantippe--to extract a smile from the grave Nestorius, and she liked his manner towards herself.

She liked the poised pipe and the jerky voice as he said, "Yes--coffee, please, Marie." Women do like these things--they seem to understand them and to attach some strange, subtle importance of their own to them.

For which power some of us who have not the knack of turning a pretty phrase or throwing off an appropriate pleasantry may well be thankful.
Presently she returned, bringing the coffee on a rough tray, also a box of matches and Oscard's tobacco pouch.

Noting this gratuitous attention to his comfort, he looked up with a little laugh.
"Er--thank you," he said.