Why should she be so squeamish with other men when Cowperwood was so unkind to her?
"Tell me something," Lynde asked, noting the doubt and holding her fingers gently but firmly, "do you care for me at all ?" "I like you, yes.

I can't say that it is anything more than that." She flushed, though, in spite of herself.
He merely gazed at her with his hard, burning eyes.

The materiality that accompanies romance in so many temperaments awakened in her, and quite put Cowperwood out of her mind for the moment.

It was an astonishing and revolutionary experience for her.

She quite burned in reply, and Lynde smiled sweetly, encouragingly.
"Why won't you be friends with me, my sweetheart?
I know you're not happy--I can see that.