She would be elemental; there would be in her somewhere the sleeping tigress. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. Listen to me, Winifred. "Choose, Jack. He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account. I let him take me to the English Embassy, and we went through some sort of a ceremony. She struggled not to be afraid.
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