She who was always so calm, so thoroughly mistress of her own powers, whose judgment Keyork Arabian could deceive, but whose self-possession he could not move, except to anger, was at the present moment both weak and unbalanced.

Ten minutes earlier she had fancied that it would be an easy thing to fix her eyes on his and to cast the veil of a half-sleep over his already half-dreaming senses.

She had fancied that it would be enough to say "Come," and that he would follow.
She had formed the bold scheme of attaching him to herself, by visions of the woman whom he loved as she wished to be loved by him.

She believed that if he were once in that state she could destroy the old love for ever, or even turn it to hate, at her will.

And it had seemed easy.