He should have seen that she could be brave, and was a mate for him.

And if his shallow experience of her wrote her down nerveless, his love should be doing.
Was it love?
Her restoration to the belief in her possessing a decided will whispered of high achievements she could do in proof of love, had she the freedom of a man.

She would not have listened (it was quite true) to a silly supplicating girl; she would not have allowed an interval to yawn after the first wild wooing of her.

Prince Marko loved.
Yes, that was love! It failed in no sign of the passion.

She set herself to study it in Marko, and was moved by many sentiments, numbering among them pity, thankfulness, and the shiver of a feeling between admiration and pathetic esteem, like that the musician has for a precious instrument giving sweet sound when shattered.