The child of the highway had never been taught to conceal her feelings and maintain timid reserve.

Her eyes had told him eloquently enough, first her deep sympathy, and afterward the emotions which so passionately stirred her heart.

Had the feelings which her glances were intended to reveal passed merely for the ardent gratitude of an impassioned soul?
Gratitude! For what?
His lukewarm interest had tempted her from a free, gay life, full of constant excitement, into the oppressive, wearisome monotony of this quiet house, where she was dying of ennui.

How narrow, how petty, how tiresome everything seemed, and what she had bartered for it was the world, the whole wide, wide world.

As the chicken lured the fox, the hope of satisfying the fervent longing of her heart, though even once and for a few brief moments, had brought her into the snare.