The recollection of her saying that she did not love him was humiliating, but it stirred him to deeper feelings of desire.

When he thought of her--as at first--readily accepting him and his prospects, he had not formed so high opinion of her as now, being at her mercy.
She stood before his eyes that night as he lay in bed.

One vague dream after another filled his sleep, and Sally took part in them all--kissing him, scorning him.

His mental vision was obsessed with the sight of her.
With Sally herself, sleep came late--reluctantly--like a tired man, dragging himself to his journey's end.
Janet was seated up in bed, reading and smoking, when she returned.
While she was taking off her clothes, Sally told her all about it--word for word--everything that had passed between them.

This is a way of women.