The best antidote she could hit on was the writer's face.

Yet it expressed him, his fire and his courage--gifts she respected in him, found wanting in herself.

Read by Lord Ormont, this letter would mean a deadly thing.
Aminta did her lord the justice to feel sure of him, that with her name bearing the superscription, it might be left on her table, and world not have him to peruse it.

If he manoeuvred, it was never basely.

Despite resentment, her deepest heart denied his being indifferent either to her honour or his own in relation to it.