Had it been a woman she would have felt--as Cecilia had felt with Mrs.Hughs--the indecency, the impudence of this exhibition; but from that male violence the feminine in her derived a certain satisfaction.

So in Spring, when all seems lowering and grey, the hedges and trees suddenly flare out against the purple clouds, their twigs all in flame.

The next moment that white glare is gone, the clouds are no longer purple, fiery light no longer quivers and leaps along the hedgerows.

The passion in Hughs' face was gone as soon.
Bianca felt a sense of disappointment, as though she could have wished her life held a little more of that.

He stole a glance at her out of his dark eyes, which, when narrowed, had a velvety look, like the body of a wild bee, then jerked his thumb at the picture of the little model.
"It's about her I come to speak." Blanca faced him frigidly.
"I have not the slightest wish to hear." Hughs looked round, as though to find something that would help him to proceed; his eyes lighted on Hilary's portrait.
"Ah! I'd put the two together if I was you," he said.
Blanca walked past him to the door.
"Either you or I must leave the room." The man's face was neither sullen now nor passionate, but simply miserable.
"Look here, lady," he said, "don't take it hard o' me coming here.