And the woman concerned was now another man's wife.

Which conclusively proved that there could be no regret arising from the Incomprehensible Finality, and that nobody involved cared, much less suffered.

Hence _that_ was certainly not the cause of any erratic or specific phenomena exhibited by this sample of man who differed, as she had noticed, somewhat from the rank and file of his neutral-tinted brothers.
"It's this particular specimen, _per se_," she concluded; "it's himself, _sui generis_--just as I happen to have red hair.

That is all." And she rode on quite happily, content, confident of his interest and kindness.

For she had never forgotten his warm response to her when she stood on the threshold of her first real dinner party, in her first real dinner gown--a trivial incident, trivial words! But they had meant more to her than any man specimen could understand--including the man who had uttered them; and the violets, which she found later with his card, must remain for her ever after the delicately fragrant symbol of all he had done for her in a solitude, the completeness of which she herself was only vaguely beginning to realise.
Thinking of this now, she thought of her brother--and the old hurt at his absence on that night throbbed again.