"
He stole a sidelong glance at her. In her plainly made clothes and quiet
hat she was scarcely, perhaps, a girl likely to attract attention, yet
he was conscious of certain personal qualities, which he had realized
and understood from the first. She carried herself well, she walked
with the free graceful movements of a well-bred and healthy girl. In
her face was an air of quiet thought, the self-possession of the woman
of culture and experience. Her claim to good looks was, after all,
slight enough, yet on studying her he came to the conclusion that she
could if she chose appear to much greater advantage. Her hair, soft and
naturally wavy, was brushed too resolutely back; her smile, which was
always charming, she suffered to appear only at the rarest intervals.
She suggested a life of repression, and with his knowledge of the
Bullsom menage he was able to surmise some glimmering of the truth.
"You are right," he declared. "I think that I can understand what your
feeling must be. I am sure I wish you luck."
The touch of sympathy helped her to unbend. She glanced towards him
kindly.
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