Whatever his tongue could express would have appealed, in part, to her judgment; but the touch of hand, the fleeting contact, made its way directly to her instinct.

Her judgment was as young as she, but her instincts were as old as the race and older.

They had been young when love was young, and they were wiser than convention and opinion and all the new-born things.
So her judgment did not act.

There was no call upon it, and she did not realize the strength of the appeal Martin made from moment to moment to her love-nature.

That he loved her, on the other hand, was as clear as day, and she consciously delighted in beholding his love-manifestations--the glowing eyes with their tender lights, the trembling hands, and the never failing swarthy flush that flooded darkly under his sunburn.