The glow and fire of the whole gesture--the daring of it, and yet the suggestion of womanish weakness in the hand which trembled against her dress and in the twitching lip--if it had been fine acting, it could not have been more complete.

And, in a sense, acting there was in it.

Marcella's emotions were real, but her mind seldom deserted her.

One half of her was impulsive and passionate; the other half looked on and put in finishing touches.
Acting or no, the surprise of her outburst swept the man beside her off his feet.

He found himself floundering in a sea of excuses--not for his relations, but for himself.