Her gray eyes contracted with horror when he told her of the misery with which he was too familiar.

Her pretty lips quivered when he told her of little children born only to starve because their mothers were starving.

She laid her gloved fingers gently on his when he recounted tales of strong men--good fathers in their simple, barbarous way--who were well content that the children should die rather than be saved to pass a miserable existence, without joy, without hope.
She lifted her eyes with admiration to his face when he told her what he hoped to do, what he dreamed of accomplishing.

She even made a few eager, heartfelt suggestions, fitly coming from a woman--touched with a woman's tenderness, lightened by a woman's sympathy and knowledge.
It was in its way a tragedy, the picture we are called to look upon--these newly made lovers, not talking of themselves, as is the time-honored habit of such.

Surrounded by every luxury, both high-born, refined, and wealthy; both educated, both intelligent.