At luncheon time they met again.

Etta was now almost defiant.

She was on her mettle.
She was so near to loving Paul that a hatred of him welled up within her breast whenever he repelled her advances with uncompromising reticence.
They did not know--perhaps she hardly knew herself--that the opening of the side-door depended upon her humor.
In the afternoon Etta and Maggie sat, as was their wont, in the morning-room looking out over the cliff.

Of late their intercourse had been slightly strained.

They had never had much in common, although circumstances had thrown their lives together.