She tried to imagine herself “getting something,” to project herself as sitting down at a desk and writing, or as returning after her work to some pleasantly equipped and free and independent flat. " "You delight me with the intelligence," said the stranger, entirely recovering his cheerfulness of look. For the present, he murmured his farewells, and turning, caught Hilary’s eye and walked away, crossing the ballroom to move into the less opulent, and less crowded, saloon next door where servants were dispensing refreshments. The comtesse always felt Madame Valade to be not of her class, of course.
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