As she neared it, her steps grew slower, until, reaching its door, she hesitated, with her hand timidly on the latch.

The next moment she opened it gently; it was closed quickly behind her, and, with a little stifled cry, she found herself in the arms of Henry Guest.
It was only for an instant; the pleading of her white hands, disengaged from his neck, where at first they had found themselves, and uplifted before her face, touched him more than the petitioning eyes or the sweet voiceless mouth, whose breath even was forgotten.

Letting her sink into the chair from which he had just risen, he drew back a step, with his hands clasped before him, and his dark half-savage eyes bent earnestly upon her.

Well might he have gazed.

It was no longer the conscious beauty, proud and regnant, seated before him; but a timid, frightened girl, struggling with her first deep passion.
All that was wise and gentle that she had intended to say, all that her clear intellect and experience had taught her, died upon her lips with that kiss.