But she was not engrossed at all.
She was not different from her usual self.

All the glory of the tableaux had not dazzled her, so far as Preston could see.

And daily, every morning, she stepped into that little pony chaise with a basket and drove off--Preston was at the pains to find out--to spend a couple of hours with Molly Skelton.

Preston sighed with impatience.

And then in the very act of dressing and practising for the pictures, Daisy was provokingly cool and disengaged.