Strange perversion, one might almost say.
In spite of her fears and her uncertainty, Lillian Semple accepted his attentions and interest because, equally in spite of herself, she was drawn to him.

One night, when she was going to bed, she stopped in front of her dressing table and looked at her face and her bare neck and arms.
They were very pretty.

A subtle something came over her as she surveyed her long, peculiarly shaded hair.

She thought of young Cowperwood, and then was chilled and shamed by the vision of the late Mr.Semple and the force and quality of public opinion.
"Why do you come to see me so often ?" she asked him when he called the following evening.
"Oh, don't you know ?" he replied, looking at her in an interpretive way.
"No." "Sure you don't ?" "Well, I know you liked Mr.Semple, and I always thought you liked me as his wife.

He's gone, though, now." "And you're here," he replied.
"And I'm here ?" "Yes.