No, Trina did not know.

"Do I love him?
Do I love him ?" A thousand times she put the question to herself during the next two or three days.

At night she hardly slept, but lay broad awake for hours in her little, gayly painted bed, with its white netting, torturing herself with doubts and questions.

At times she remembered the scene in the station with a veritable agony of shame, and at other times she was ashamed to recall it with a thrill of joy.

Nothing could have been more sudden, more unexpected, than that surrender of herself.