Ellen began to realize the tyranny of her own nature, and her whole soul arose in revolt.
But the girl could no more escape than a nymph of old the pursuit of the god, and there was no friendly deity to transform her into a flower to elude him.

When she slept at last she was overtaken in the innocent passion of dreams, and when she awoke it was, to her angry sensitiveness, not alone.
When she went down-stairs all her rosy radiance of the night before was eclipsed.

She looked pale and nervous.

She recoiled whenever her mother began to speak.

It seemed to her that if she said anything, and especially anything congratulatory about Robert Lloyd, she would fly at her like a wild thing.