The humble looking-glass, which Nora, who was something of a carpenter, had herself mended before her cousin's arrival, was standing on the floor in a corner, and a folding mirror framed in embossed silver had taken its place.
"I say, do you always travel with these things ?" The girl stood open-mouthed, half astonished, half contemptuous.
"What things ?" Nora pointed to the toilet-table and the bed.
Connie's expression showed an answering astonishment.
"I have had them all my life," she said stiffly.

"We always took our own linen to hotels, and made our rooms nice." "I should think you'd be afraid of their being stolen!" Nora took up one of the costly brushes, and examined it in wonder.
"Why should I be?
They're nothing.

They're just like other people's!" With a slight but haughty change of manner, the girl turned away, and began to talk Italian to her maid.
"I never saw anything like them!" said Nora stoutly.
Constance Bledlow took no notice.

She and Annette were chattering fast, and Nora could not understand a word.

She stood by awkward and superfluous, feeling certain that the maid who was gesticulating, now towards the ceiling, and now towards the floor, was complaining both of her own room and of the kitchen accommodation.