She lay in a tumult of agitation, her heart beating painfully under the lawn of her nightgown.

She had a sense of gasping wonderment.

She felt, as Colin had felt, that something tremendous had happened--and with such bewildering suddenness--altering all the conditions between them.
Yet, through the pain and bewilderment, her whole being thrilled with an excitement that was almost intoxicating--like the effect of an insidious drug, or the fumes of heady wine.

She knew it was the old craving for sensation, the fatal O'Hara temperament awake and clamouring.

Try as she would--and she did try in a futile fashion--she could not shut off the impression of Willoughby Maule--the sombre ardour in his eyes, the note of suppressed passion in his voice.