So long as there was the likelihood of meeting him at any moment, her nerves had been more or less in a state of tension.

There was that between them which made it impossible for her to regard him with the cool, indifferent friendship which he himself seemed so well able to assume.

Despite herself, the sound of his voice, the touch of his hand, caused a curious little fluttering within her, like the flicker of a compass needle when it quivers to the north.

If he entered the same room as herself, she was instantly aware of it, even though she might not chance to be looking in his direction at the moment.

Indeed, her consciousness of him was so acute, so vital, that she sometimes wondered how it was possible that one person could mean so much to another and yet himself feel no reciprocal interest.