No one had ever guessed.

It seemed to Helen that the pain of it had broken her heart in the very spring of her years; that it was only a maimed and cautious creature that the world had ever known.
She lay, and drew long quiet breaths in looking at it all.

The day of reawakened memories had been like a sword in her heart, and now she seemed to draw it out slowly, and let the blood come with a sense of peace.

She could even, as often, lend to the contemplation of her tragedy the bitter little grimace of mockery with which she met so much of life.

She could tell herself, as often, that she had never outgrown love-sick girlhood, and that she was merely in love with Gerald's smile.
Yet Gerald was all in his smile; and Gerald, it seemed, was made to be loved, all of him, helplessly and hopelessly, by unfortunate her.