But Freeman, after due meditation, came to the conclusion that this was the outcome of her recognition of her own singularity: in trying to be like other people, she fell into caricature.

Freeman, somehow, liked her the better for it.

Like most men of brain and pith, who have seen and thought much, he was thankful for a new thing, because, so far as it went, it renewed him.

It pleased him to imagine that he could, with a word or a look, cause this veil of artifice to be thrown aside, and the primitive passion and fierceness behind it to start forth.

He allowed himself to imagine, with a certain satisfaction, that were he to make this young woman jealous she would think nothing of thrusting a dagger between his ribs.