He had a distinguished voice; his clothes fitted him to perfection; and his linen, irreproachable itself, reproved her silently.
Her eyes left him suddenly and wandered about the room.

She was full of little tremors and agitations; she wished that the towels wouldn't look so much like dish-cloths; she credited him with powers of microscopic observation, and wondered if he had noticed the stain on the carpet and the dust on the book-shelves, and if he would be likely to mistake the quinine tabloids for vulgar liver pills, or her bottle of hair-wash for hair-dye.

Once released from its unnatural labours, her mind returned instinctively to the trivial as to its home.

She glanced at her hat, perched conspicuously on the knob of the looking-glass, and a dim sense of its imperfections came over her and vanished as it came.

Then she tried to compose herself for the verdict.
It did not come all at once.