But for all her splendid surrender of her womanhood to Willie Connor, for the sake of her country, she still loved Leonard Boyce.

Or, if she wasn't in love with him, she couldn't get him out of her head or her senses.

Something like that, anyhow.

I don't pretend to know exactly what goes on in the soul or nature, or whatever it is, of a young girl, who has given her heart to a man.

I can only use the crude old phrase: she was still in love (in some sort of fashion) with Leonard Boyce, and she was going to marry, for the highest motives, somebody else.
"Confound the fellow," said I, with an irritable gesture and covered myself with cigar ash.
She had called Boyce a devil and implied a wish that he were dead.