Had he been markedly susceptible to female beauty, it is certain that he would have fallen in love with Beatrice Redwing long before he ever saw Emily, for Beatrice was fair to look upon as few girls are.

He had not done so; he had scarcely--a strange thing--been tempted to think of doing so.

That is to say, it needed something more to fire his instincts.

The first five minutes that he spent in Emily's presence made him more conscious of womanhood than years of constant association with Beatrice.

This love, riveting itself among the intricacies of his being, could not be torn out, and threatened to resist all piecemeal extraction.