The following text is from Henry James’s 1902 novel The Wings of the Dove.
Densher is observing Kate Croy in an aristocratic drawing room.
She was magnificent, but she was formidable; she moved through the assemblage with an unswerving authority that seemed less acquired than inherited from some long lineage of political strategists. Densher felt, as he watched her effortless negotiation of social subtleties, that her brilliance was not a spontaneous effervescence of spirit, but the cold calculation of an intelligence that never for an instant relaxed its vigilance. She gave nothing away that was not intended as a purpose; her smiles were currency, and her silences were fortified positions.
Densher is observing Kate Croy in an aristocratic drawing room.
She was magnificent, but she was formidable; she moved through the assemblage with an unswerving authority that seemed less acquired than inherited from some long lineage of political strategists. Densher felt, as he watched her effortless negotiation of social subtleties, that her brilliance was not a spontaneous effervescence of spirit, but the cold calculation of an intelligence that never for an instant relaxed its vigilance. She gave nothing away that was not intended as a purpose; her smiles were currency, and her silences were fortified positions.