Isabel sat on a painted stool before the dressing-table that was strewn with little black and green boxes.
"What is what, William ?" And she bent forward, and her fine light hair fell over her cheeks.
"Ah, you know!" He stood in the middle of the room and he felt a stranger.

At that Isabel wheeled round quickly and faced him.
"Oh, William!" she cried imploringly, and she held up the hair-brush: "Please! Please don't be so dreadfully stuffy and--tragic.

You're always saying or looking or hinting that I've changed.

Just because I've got to know really congenial people, and go about more, and am frightfully keen on--on everything, you behave as though I'd--" Isabel tossed back her hair and laughed--"killed our love or something.

It's so awfully absurd"-- she bit her lip--"and it's so maddening, William.