She was under the delusion that lovers' love was a reprehensible egoism.

Her heart had never had place for it; and thus her nature was unconsummated, and the torment of a haunting insufficiency accompanied her sweetest hours, ready to mislead her in all but very clearest actions.
She saw, or she divined, much of this struggle; but the vision of it was fitful, not consecutive.

It frightened and harassed without illuminating her.

Now, upon Merthyr's return, she was moved by it just enough to take his hand and say:-- "We are the same ?" "What can change us ?" he replied.
"Or who ?" and as she smiled up to him, she was ashamed of her smile.
"Yes, who!" he interjected, by this time quite enlightened.

All subtle feelings are discerned by Welsh eyes when untroubled by any mental agitation.