For, as he looked at her sitting in his office, her perfect health, her slim boyishness, her exquisite lines and graceful turn of hand, arm and body, or the flower-like turn of the neck, were the very harmony and poetry of life.
But she was terribly provoking too; and he realized that she was an unconscious coquette, that her spirit loved mastery as his did.
Denzil could not know this, however.

It was impossible for him to analyse the natures of these two people.

He had instinct, but not enough to judge the whole situation, and so for two months after Carnac disappeared he had lived a life of torture.

Again and again he had determined to tell Junia the story of Tarboe's brother, but instinctive delicacy stopped him.

He could not tell her the terrible story which had robbed him of all he loved and had made him the avenger of the dead.
A half-dozen times after she came back from John Grier's office, with slightly heightening colour, and the bright interest in her eyes, and had gone about the garden fondling the flowers, he had started towards her; but had stopped short before her natural modesty.