She felt Hurstwood's passion as a delightful background to her own achievement, and she wondered what he would have to say.

She was sorry for him, too, with that peculiar sorrow which finds something complimentary to itself in the misery of another.

She was now experiencing the first shades of feeling of that subtle change which removes one out of the ranks of the suppliants into the lines of the dispensers of charity.

She was, all in all, exceedingly happy.
On the morrow, however, there was nothing in the papers concerning the event, and, in view of the flow of common, everyday things about, it now lost a shade of the glow of the previous evening.

Drouet himself was not talking so much OF as FOR her.