He cared for her, probably, but in a calm, judicial fashion that could never satisfy her.

If she married him she would come second--and a very poor second--to his profession.

And so she did not mean to marry him.
And so she checked the fevered memory of passionate kisses that had burned her to the soul, of arms that had clasped and held her by a force colossal.

That had been only the primitive man in him, escaped for the moment beyond his control--the primitive man which he had well-nigh succeeded in stifling with the bonds of his servitude.

Had he not told her that he would have given all he had to forget that single wild lapse into savagery?
She was sure that he despised himself for it.