I will tell her to write to you at once.

You must come! You must! Will you promise ?" And Constance, wondering at her own docility, had practically promised.
"I want you to know my people--I want you to know my father!" And as he plunged again into talk about his father, the egotistical man of fashion disappeared; she seemed at last to have reached something sincere and soft, and true.
And then--what had begun the jarring?
Was it--first--her account of her Greek lessons with Sorell?
Before she knew what had happened, the brow beside her had clouded, the voice had changed.

Why did she see so much of Sorell?
He, like Radowitz, was a _poseur_--a wind-bag.

That was what made the attraction between them.

If she wished to learn Greek-- "Let me teach you!" And he had bent forward, with his most brilliant and imperious look, his hand upon her reins.
But Constance, surprised and ruffled, had protested that Sorell had been her mother's dear friend, and was now her own.