"You are so little like these people!" She had vanity.

That had been part of her life.

Her beauty had brought trade when she was a gipsy; she had been the admired of Paris: she was only twenty three.

Presently she became restless, and shrank from him.
Her eyes had a flitting hunted look.

Once they met his with a wild sort of pleading or revolt, he could not tell which, and then were continually turned away.
If either could have known how hard the little dwarf of sense and memory was trying to tell her something.
This new phase stunned him.