Her pledge to Roger, her uncle's faith in her--all these must be tossed into the fire to make her gift complete.
But the agony in Peter's face when the mask had fallen from it had temporarily destroyed for her all values except the value of love.
Peter took the fluttering, outstretched fingers and laid his lips against them.

Then he relinquished them slowly, lingeringly.

Passion had died out of his face.

His eyes held only a grave tenderness, and the sternly sweet expression of his mouth recalled to Nan the man as she had first known him, before love, terrible and beautiful, had come into their lives to destroy them.
"I should never take you, dear," he said at last.

"A man doesn't hurt the thing he loves--not in his right senses.