She looked unhappy.

And--I don't know how to say it--well--it suited her.

The clouded brow, the pained mouth, the vague fixed glance! A victim.

And this characteristic aspect made her attractive; an individual touch--you know.
The dog had run on ahead and now gazed at us by the side of the Fyne's garden-gate in a tense attitude and wagging his stumpy tail very, very slowly, with an air of concentrated attention.

The girl-friend of the Fynes bolted violently through the aforesaid gate and into the cottage leaving me on the road--astounded.
A couple of hours afterwards I returned to the cottage for chess as usual.