He had been introduced to her at a sort of Bohemian gathering, had talked to her, direct, as she liked a man to talk.

He had seen her home that night, had asked to call, and on the other nights had taken her to the theater and to supper.
Delicately unconsciously, a bond of friendship had grown up between them.

She felt that he was a man vibrating with physical and mental power, long latent, which nothing but a strong will held in check, a man by whom she could be fascinated, yet of whom she was just a little bit afraid.
With Macey, it would have been difficult to analyze his feelings.

He had found in Constance a woman who had seen the world in all its phases, yet had come through unstained by what would have drowned some in the depths of the under-world, or thrust others into the degradation of the demi-monde, at least.

He admired and respected her.