She rose with the rest, and silently withdrew to a remote corner of the great room, where she sat herself on a couch in a window, seeming to watch the reflection of the water as it made a silver quivering on the bars of the lattice.

She sat, turned away from the whole length of the apartment, as if she were lonely of her own haughty choice.

And yet it would have been as difficult as ever to say, positively, whether she avoided the rest, or was avoided.
The shadow in which she sat, falling like a gloomy veil across her forehead, accorded very well with the character of her beauty.

One could hardly see the face, so still and scornful, set off by the arched dark eyebrows, and the folds of dark hair, without wondering what its expression would be if a change came over it.

That it could soften or relent, appeared next to impossible.