Her confidence died with her gayety; her vanity began to suffer.

And she caught at her admission that Jean Isbel was different; she resented it in amaze; she ridiculed it; she laughed at her naive confession.

She could arrive at no conclusion other than that she was a weak-minded, fluctuating, inexplicable little fool.
But for all that she found her mind had been made up for her, without consent or desire, before her will had been consulted; and that inevitably and unalterably she meant to see Jean Isbel again.

Long she battled with this strange decree.

One moment she won a victory over, this new curious self, only to lose it the next.