She cared for me once, I'm certain of that, but I tormented her so with my humors that I let my chances slip, and now she won't risk marrying me.
And this is what I've made of my life--nothing, nothing, nothing." The tramp of their boots upon the dry road seemed to asseverate nothing, nothing, nothing.

Mary thought that this silence was the silence of relief; his depression she ascribed to the fact that he had seen Katharine and parted from her, leaving her in the company of William Rodney.

She could not blame him for loving Katharine, but that, when he loved another, he should ask her to marry him--that seemed to her the cruellest treachery.

Their old friendship and its firm base upon indestructible qualities of character crumbled, and her whole past seemed foolish, herself weak and credulous, and Ralph merely the shell of an honest man.

Oh, the past--so much made up of Ralph; and now, as she saw, made up of something strange and false and other than she had thought it.