But Constance Palliser's cheeks turned pink; and remained so during her silent ride home with Wayward.
Lately the world had not been spinning to suit the taste of Constance Palliser.

For one thing Wayward was morose.

Besides he appeared physically ill.

She shrank from asking herself the reason; she might better have asked him for her peace of mind.
Another matter: Virginia, the circumspect, the caste-bound, the intolerant, the emotionless, was displaying the astounding symptoms peculiar to the minx! And she had neither the excuse of ignorance nor of extreme youth.

Virginia was a mature maiden, calmly cognisant of the world, and coolly alive to the doubtful phases of that planet.