If his feeling for Zara were only for the body then it was true that it was only lust.
But it was _not_ true; and he thought of all his dreams of her at Wrayth, of the pictures he had drawn of their future life together, of the tenderness with which he had longed for this night.
And then his anger died down and was replaced by a passionate grief.
His dream lay in ruins, and there was nothing to look forward to but a blank, soulless life.

It did not seem to him then, in the cold moonlight, that things could ever come right.

He could not for his pride's sake condescend to any further explanation with her.

He would not stoop to defend himself; she must think what she chose, until she should of herself find out the truth.
And then his level mind turned and tried to see her point of view.

He must not be unjust.