In very truth she meant to leave me, punishing herself if by that she might sting me.

What man would have shown that folly--or that flower of pride?
Yet was I beaten?
I do not love to be beaten, above all when the game has seemed in my hands.

I had a card to play, and, between my pants, smiled grimly as it came into my mind.

I glanced over my shoulder; I was hard on half-a-mile from shore.

Women are compassionate; quick on pride's heels there comes remorse.