There was audible in his voice from sentence to sentence, ringing through them, inspiring them, the reverence a young man's heart holds for the woman whom he loves.
"You ought to marry, not me, but someone better," she cried.

"There is someone I know--in--England--who--" But Linforth would not listen.

He laughed to scorn the notion that there could be anyone better than Violet Oliver; and with each word he spoke he seemed to grow younger.

It was as though a miracle had happened.

He remained in her eyes what he really was, a man head and shoulders above her friends, and in fibre altogether different.