She had been miserable enough--could she give herself over to his flying emotions again so suddenly?
She paced the room, her face now in her hands, her hands now clasping and wringing before her.

Her wifely duty?
She straightened to that.
Duty! She was first and before all a good, unpolluted woman.

No, no, it could not be.

Love him?
Again she shrank.

Then came flooding on her that afternoon when she had flung herself on Richard's breast, and all those hundred days of happiness in Richard's company--Richard the considerate, the strong, who had stood so by his honour in an hour of peril.
Now as she thought of it a hot wave shivered through all her body, and tingled to her hair.