He himself had certainly evinced no anxiety to renew the acquaintance.

And this, too, fretted her in some unaccountable way.
She could not analyse her own emotions.

She felt hurt and angry and ashamed in the same breath--and all because an unknown man, an absolute stranger, had told her in no measured terms exactly what he thought of her! Only--he was not really quite a stranger! He was the "Saint Michel" of her childhood days, the man with whom she had unconsciously compared those other men whom the passing years had brought into her life--and always to their disadvantage.
The first time she had seen him in the woods at Coverdale was the day when Hugh Vallincourt had beaten her; she had been smarting with the physical pain and humiliation of it.

And now, this second time they had met, she had been once more forced to endure that strange and unaccustomed experience called pain.

Only this time she felt as though her soul had been beaten, and it was Saint Michel himself who had scourged her.
The door at the far end of the room opened suddenly and a welcome voice broke cheerfully across the bitter current of her thoughts.
"Well, here I am at last! Has Magda arrived home yet ?" Davilof ceased playing abruptly and the speaker paused on the threshold of the room, peering into the dusk.