Like the falling of the Tower of Babel, with its crumbling of dust and its confusion of tongues, she tumbled headlong from her pinnacle of strength.
"Oh, don't, please!" she moaned, and then in torrents came the tears; in an incoherent toppling of sound, the little cries of her weeping rushed from her; and Traill, hurled from the sling of impulse, was kneeling at her feet.
"I'm awfully sorry," he kept on saying; "I'm awfully sorry." Even then he but vaguely understood, had not rightly guessed the verge upon which she was treading.

It was not that she feared he might guess the secret in her heart.

If, as she half believed, he loved her too, what real harm could be done by that?
It was the fear that, in this unsexing moment of hysteria, she might lose all control, pitch all reserve and modesty into the flood-tide of her emotions, and lose him for ever in the unnatural whirlwind of her passion.
Against that she fought, needing only the release from the tension of his questions.

When he began, in his futile efforts to make amends, to ply them again, she rose hurriedly to her feet.
"Can I go into the other room for a moment ?" she asked; "or will you go and leave me here alone--just for a minute or two ?" He stood up.

"I'll do anything you like," he said.
"Then, go--just for a moment." The door had scarcely closed behind him before she sank back again into the chair, shaking with the passion of tears.