She knew that it was like the panic that seizes people in the presence of an appalling disturbance of nature.
Doubtless, when she had talked with Mr.Van Torp just now, she had been disgusted by the indifferent way in which he spoke of poor Miss Bamberger's sudden death; it was still more certain that what he said about the book, and his very ungentlemanly behaviour in throwing it into the sea, had roused her justifiable anger.

But she would have smiled at the thought that an exhibition of heartlessness, or the most utter lack of manners, could have made her wish to run away from any other man.

Her life had accustomed her to people who had no more feeling than Schreiermeyer, and no better manners than Pompeo Stromboli.

Van Torp might have been on his very best behaviour that morning, or at any of her previous chance meetings with him; sooner or later she would have felt that same absurd and unreasoning fear of him, and would have found it very hard not to turn and make her escape.

His face was so stony and his eyes were so aggressive; he was always like something dreadful that was just going to happen.
Yet Margarita da Cordova was a brave woman, and had lately been called a heroine because she had gone on singing after that explosion till the people were quiet again; and Margaret Donne was a sensible girl, justly confident of being able to take care of herself where men were concerned.