She seemed just as stiff and shy as a girl ought to be, Lady Palsworthy thought, neither garrulous nor unready, and free from nearly all the heavy aggressiveness, the overgrown, overblown quality, the egotism and want of consideration of the typical modern girl. Where was this kindly world she had drawn so rosily in fancy? Disillusion everywhere. “I am developing ailments,” she said, meeting his questioning eyes. Springing upon the box, he told the coachman to make the best of his way to Saint Giles's. They put her down, and she leaped at them; she smote a helmet to the ground. A woman indeed this to love and be loved, beautiful, graceful, gay. ‘Good God!’ uttered Roding.
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