She had, before her marriage, flirted with him a very little--not as much as she could have wished; but Lady Bellairs, who was fond of him, had promptly intervened, and the young man had disappeared into his examinations.

That was four years ago.
In reality Fay had half-forgotten him; but when she saw him suddenly, pale, handsome, distinguished, across a ballroom in Rome, and, after a moment's uncertainty, realised who he was, she felt the same pleasurable surprise, soft as the fall of dew, which pervades the feminine heart when, in looking into an unused drawer, it inadvertently haps upon a length of new ribbon, bought, carefully put away, and forgotten.
Fay went gently up to Michael, conscious of her beauty and her wonderful jewels, and held out her hand with a little deprecating smile.
"And so we meet again at last," she said.
He turned red and white.
"At last," he said with difficulty.
She looked more closely at him.

The dreamy, poetic face had changed during those four years.

She became dimly aware that he had not only grown from a youth into a man, but that some other transformation had been painfully wrought in him.
Instinctively her beaming face became grave to match his.

She was slow to see what others were feeling, but quick to reflect their mood.