A moment before he had remembered how he had held her in his arms, touched her cold lips, and then flung her off,--he had remembered it, every nerve shrinking with remorse and unutterable tenderness: now----! The utter quiet of her face told more than words could do.

She did not love him; he was nothing to her.

Then love was a lie.

A moment before he could have humbled himself in her eyes as low as he lay in his own, and accepted her pardon as a necessity of her enduring, faithful nature: now, the whole strength of the man sprang into rage, and mad desire of conquest.
He came gravely across the room, holding out his hand with his old quiet control.

She might be cold and grave as he, but underneath he knew there was a thwarted, hungry spirit,--a strong, fine spirit as dainty Ariel.