He had learned from his gentle mother to forgive affronts to himself; she had seen him do it many times, overlooking what another man would have resented, but an affront to herself or any other woman was a different matter: that he would never forgive.

She knew, too, that he had just cause to be offended, for in all her life no one had ever been so rude to her.

That she herself was partly to blame only intensified her anxiety.

Willits loved her, for he had told her so, not once, but several times, although she had answered him only with laughter.

She should have been honest and not played the coquette: and yet, although the fault was partly her own, never had she been more astonished than at his outburst.