I must choke in the infernal coil, but I'd like to have the sweetness of your pity in it--whatever it is." She put out her hand.

"Whatever it is, I do pity you; I said that." "Thank you." He kissed the band she gave him and went.
He had gone on some such terms before; was it now for the last time?
She believed it was.

She felt in herself a satiety, a fatigue, in which his good looks, his invented airs and poses, his real trouble, were all alike repulsive.

She did not acquit herself of the wrong of having let him think she might yet have liked him as she once did; but she had been honestly willing to see whether she could.

It had mystified her to find that when they first met in New York, after their summer in St.Barnaby, she cared nothing for him; she had expected to punish him for his neglect, and then fancy him as before, but she did not.