“No, not ill. Perhaps I’m bored,” said Connie a little pathetically.

The light of battle glowed in Hilda’s face: she was a woman, soft and still as she seemed, of the old amazon sort, not made to fit with men.

“This wretched place!” she said softly, looking at poor old, lumbering Wragby with real hate. She looked soft and warm herself, as a ripe pear, and she was an amazon of the real old breed.

She went quietly in to Clifford. He thought how handsome she looked, but also he shrank from her. His wife’s family did not have his sort of manners, or his sort of etiquette. He considered them rather outsiders, but once they got inside they made him jump through the hoop.