She no longer, then, filled Harry's life, controlling all his actions; she no longer inspired his hopes.

Rather than marry her he would work as a common sailor.
Yes--he had said so, and with his head up and his voice ringing brave and clear.

She was proud of him for it--she had never been so proud of him--but why no trace of herself in his resolve; except in his allusion to the duel, when he said he would do it again should any one insult her?
It was courteous, of course, for him to feel that way, however much she abhorred the system of settling such disputes.

But, then, he would do that for any other woman--would, no doubt, for some woman he had not yet seen.

In this he was the son of his father and the same Harry--but in everything else he was a changed man--and never more changed than in his attitude toward her.
With these thoughts racking her brain she rose from the lounge and began pacing the floor, peering out between the curtains of her room, her eyes wandering over the park as if she could still see him between the branches.