Her eyes were fixed upon the ground, the pink colour coming and going in her cheeks was very delicate and girlish. Nigel Ennison was my very good friend, but there is not the slightest reason for your not marrying him, if you wish to do so. All her tender lures, inherent and acquired, had shattered themselves futilely against the reserve he had set between them. She reminded him of his linnet, when he gave the bird the freedom of the house: it became filled with a wild gaiety which bordered on madness. He took a handful of almonds and raisins that she held out to him—for both these young people had given up the practice of going out for luncheon—and kept her hand for a moment to kiss her finger-tips.
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