She tried to recall those glances of his and those broken, passionate words uttered during the moments of his physical suffering that seemed to mean something more than friendliness.
Against these, however, was the constantly recurring picture of a calm cold face and of intercourse marked with cool indifference.

"Oh, he cannot love me," she cried to herself.

"I am sure he does not love me, and I just threw myself at him." In her march up and down the room she paused before her mirror and looked at the face that stared so wildly back at her.

Her eyes rested on the red line of her mouth.

"Oh," she groaned, rubbing vigorously those full red lips.