But when the door opened and she whose presence he was longing for entered, there came over him suddenly and mysteriously a state of tremor and distrust which he had never felt before. Miss Gwendolen, simple as she stood there, in her black silk, cut square about the round white pillar of her throat, a black band fastening her hair which streamed backward in smooth silky abundance, seemed more queenly than usual. Perhaps it was that there was none of the latent fun and tricksiness which had always pierced in her greeting of Rex. How much of this was due to her presentiment from what he had said yesterday that he was going to talk of love? How much from her desire to show regret about his accident? Something of both. But the wisdom of ages has hinted that there is a side of the bed which has a malign influence if you happen to get out on it; and this accident befalls some charming persons rather frequently. Perhaps it had befallen Gwendolen this morning. The hastening of her toilet, the way in which Bugle used the brush, the quality of the shilling serial mistakenly written for her amusement, the probabilities of the coming day, and, in short, social institutions generally, were all objectionable to her. It was not that she was out of temper, but that the world was not equal to the demands of her fine organism.

But when the door opened and Gwendolen entered, he felt suddenly a tremor and distrust which he had never felt before. Miss Gwendolen, in her black silk, a black band fastening her silky abundance of hair, seemed more queenly than usual, with none of her usual latent fun. How much of this was due to her fear that he was going to talk of love? How much from her desire to show regret about his accident? Something of both. But perhaps Gwendolen was also out of temper - or not exactly that, but felt the world unequal to her demands.
