They were two very absurd and diminutive figures, but they stood for a good deal.
To Cautley, Rhoda herself as she revolved these things looked significant enough.

Leaning forward, one elbow bent on her knee, her chin propped on her hand, her lips pouting, her forehead knit, she might have been a young and passionate Pallas, brooding tempestuously on the world.
"Miss Vivian is on my side, I see.

I'll leave her to do the fighting." And he left her.
Rhoda's first movement was to capture Miss Quincey's hand as it wildly reconnoitred for a pocket handkerchief among the pillows.
"Don't worry about it," she said, "I'll speak to Miss Cursiter." Dr.Cautley, enduring a perfunctory five minutes with Mrs.Moon, could hear Miss Vivian running downstairs and the front door opening and closing upon her.

With a little haste and discretion he managed to overtake her before she had gone very far.

He stopped to give his verdict on her friend.
She had expected him.
"Well," she asked, "it _is_ overwork, isn't it ?" "Very much overwork; and no wonder.