Adelaide did not know whether it were servile or superb to care little about knowing his opinion and intentions in regard to her.

All that she cared about was that in her eyes he was once more supreme and that his arms were about her.

Words, she knew, would have been her enemies, and she did not make use of them.
When they went out, they passed Wayne in the outer office.
"Come to dinner to-night, Pete," said Farron, and added, turning to his wife, "That's all right, isn't it, Adelaide ?" She indicated that it was perfect, like everything he did.
Wayne looked at his future mother-in-law in surprise.

His pride had been unforgetably stung by some of her sentences, but he could have forgiven those more easily than the easy smile with which she now nodded at her husband's invitation, as if a pleasant intention on her part could wipe out everything that had gone before.

That, it seemed to him, was the very essence of insolence.
Appreciating that some sort of doubt was disturbing him, Adelaide said most graciously: "Yes, you really must come, Mr.Wayne." At this moment Farron's own stenographer, Chandler, approached him with an unsigned letter in his hand.
Chandler took the routine of the office more seriously than Farron did, and acquired thereby a certain power over his employer.