He did not ramp off into a temper; the first effects of it were to drive the color out of his face and steal away his appetite.

His eye grew moody, and in the end angry.
Some flame of wrath was kindled against poor Dorothy, who was so ready--that is the way he put it to himself--to sacrifice him in defense of her father.

But the flame went out, and never attained either height or intensity as a flame of repute and standing among flames.

Richard was too normal, too healthy, too much in love.

Besides, Dorothy's note was warped and polka-dotted with small round scars where her poor tears had fallen as she wrote; and with that the flame of anger was quenched by the mere sight of those tear-scars; and Richard kissed them one by one--the tear-scars--and found, when he had kissed the last one and then kissed it again for love and for luck, that he worshiped Dorothy the more for being in trouble.