He had himself never been in love before.

He had liked women in that turgid past of his, and been fascinated by some of them, but he had not known what it was to love them.

He had whistled in a masterful, careless way, and they had come to him.

They had been diversions, incidents, part of the game men play, but a small part at most.

And now, and for the first time, he was a suppliant, tender and timid and doubting.