How could she--how could any woman--resist the influence of his steady mind, his firmness of purpose, his manly resolution to owe everything to himself and nothing to his rank, set off as these attractive qualities were by the outward and personal advantages which exercise an ascendancy of their own?
Isabel was fascinated, and yet Isabel was not at ease.

In her lonely moments she was troubled by regretful thoughts of Moody, which perplexed and irritated her.

She had always behaved honestly to him; she had never encouraged him to hope that his love for her had the faintest prospect of being returned.

Yet, knowing, as she did, that her conduct was blameless so far, there were nevertheless perverse sympathies in her which took his part.

In the wakeful hours of the night there were whispering voices in her which said: "Think of Moody!" Had there been a growing kindness towards this good friend in her heart, of which she herself was not aware?
She tried to detect it--to weigh it for what it was really worth.