There was something about her which suggested a tigress on the defensive--at bay, shielding her young.
Durward looked at her with kind, adoring eyes.
"That's beautiful of you, darling," he replied gently.

"But it's a dangerous doctrine.

And I know that, really, you're far too tender-hearted to sacrifice a fly." Elisabeth regarded him oddly.
"You don't know me, Geoffrey," she said very slowly.

"No man knows a woman, really--not all her thoughts." And had Major Durward, honest fellow, realized the volcanic force of passion hidden behind the tense inscrutability of his wife's lovely face, he would have been utterly confounded.

We do not plumb the deepest depths even of those who are closest to us.
Civilisation had indeed forced the turgid river to run within the narrow channels hewn by established custom, but, released from the bondage of convention, the soul of Elisabeth Durward was that of sheer primitive woman, and the pivot of all her actions her love for her mate and for the man-child she had borne him.
Once, years ago, she had sacrificed justice, and honour, and a man's faith in womanhood on that same pitiless altar of love.