All those who are round me now, you know that you can trust and that you can love," he added earnestly and significantly.
He took her hand; it was trembling with obvious suppressed agitation.
She knew that he had guessed what was passing in her mind, and now was deeply ashamed of what she had done.

She had been tortured with jealousy for the past three weeks, but at least she had suffered quite alone: on one had been allowed to touch that wound, which more often than not, excites derision rather than pity.

Now, by her own actions, two men knew her secret.

Both were kind and sympathetic; but Deroulede resented her imputations, and Blakeney had been unable to help her.
A wave of morbid introspection swept over her soul.

She realised in a moment how petty and base had been her thoughts and how purposeless her actions.