Lucy felt herself go very red in the cheeks and lowered her hand rather slowly. She ought to have leapt back on guard. He stamped his last letter as Annabel entered. She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. She did most urgently desire to save her face in Morningside Park, and for long hours she could think of no way of putting it that would not be in the nature of unconditional admission of defeat. He saw that his words were falling upon dull ears. It remains a bizarre idea to me that Lucy Alberti could ever become so detailed or so real, but I’m certainly glad to have made her acquaintance.
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