But now this old world had been awakened to arms against a dazzling new world of love and pleasure.

She was led captive by emotion, but the cold rook of scruple remained.

She had read of women surrendering all for love, but she felt dismally that this happy gift had been denied her.

Criticism, a fierce, vulgar antagonism, impervious to sentiment, not to be exorcised by generous impulse--such was her unlovely inheritance.
As she leaned over a pool of clear brown water in a little burn, where scented ferns dipped and great rocks of brake and heather shadowed, she saw her face and figure mirrored in every colour and line.

Her extraordinary prettiness delighted her, and then she laughed at her own vanity.