She troubled herself no more upon the matter.

She only basked in the warmth of his feeling, which was as a grateful blaze to one who is cold.

Hurstwood glowed with his own intensity, and the heat of his passion was already melting the wax of his companion's scruples.
"You think," he said, "I am happy; that I ought not to complain?
If you were to meet all day with people who care absolutely nothing about you, if you went day after day to a place where there was nothing but show and indifference, if there was not one person in all those you knew to whom you could appeal for sympathy or talk to with pleasure, perhaps you would be unhappy too." He was striking a chord now which found sympathetic response in her own situation.

She knew what it was to meet with people who were indifferent, to walk alone amid so many who cared absolutely nothing about you.

Had not she?
Was not she at this very moment quite alone?
Who was there among all whom she knew to whom she could appeal for sympathy?
Not one.