She was still the victim of his keen eyes, his suave manners, his fine clothes.

She looked and saw before her a man who was most gracious and sympathetic, who leaned toward her with a feeling that was a delight to observe.

She could not resist the glow of his temperament, the light of his eye.

She could hardly keep from feeling what he felt.
And yet she was not without thoughts which were disturbing.

What did he know?
What had Drouet told him?
Was she a wife in his eyes, or what?
Would he marry her?
Even while he talked, and she softened, and her eyes were lighted with a tender glow, she was asking herself if Drouet had told him they were not married.