In her mother's time she had been the sweetest, the most lovable of children.
In later days, under the care of her mother's friend, her girlhood had passed so harmlessly and so happily--it seemed as if the sleeping passions might sleep forever! She had lived on to the prime of her womanhood--and then, when the treasure of her life was at its richest, in one fatal moment she had flung it away on the man in whose presence she now stood.
Was she without excuse?
No: not utterly without excuse.
She had seen him under other aspects than the aspect which he presented now.

She had seen him, the hero of the river-race, the first and foremost man in a trial of strength and skill which had roused the enthusiasm of all England.

She had seen him, the central object of the interest of a nation; the idol of the popular worship and the popular applause.

_His_ were the arms whose muscle was celebrated in the newspapers.

_He_ was first among the heroes hailed by ten thousand roaring throats as the pride and flower of England.