To passion she was
a complete stranger, and won all her games because with her great beauty
she was as cold as ice.
She was not feeling perfectly content this Good Friday afternoon.
Something had happened since the evening before which had altered John
Derringham's point of view towards her. She felt it distinctly with her
senses, trained like an animal's, to scent the most subtle things in
connection with herself. It was impossible to seize, she could not
analyze it, but there it was; certainly there seemed to be some change.
He was brilliant, and had been even _empresse_ before lunch, but it
was not spontaneous, and she was not perfectly sure that it was not
assumed. It was his cleverness which attracted her. She could not see the
other side of his head--not that she would have understood what that
meant, if she had heard the phrase.
But her habit was not to sit down under an adverse circumstance, but to
probe its source and eradicate it, or, at least, counteract it. Thus,
while she chattered eloquently to Sir Tedbury Delvine, her keen brain
was weighing things.
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