Even as she rejected it, it asserted its power, troubled her, angered her, humiliated her, called to her.
She was glad of this meeting with Ingolby.

It had helped her.

She had set out to do a thing she dreaded, and it was easier now than it would have been if they had not met.

She had been on her way to the Hut in the Wood, and now the dread of the visit to Jethro Fawe had diminished.

The last voice she would hear before she entered Jethro Fawe's prison was that of the man who represented to her, however vaguely, the life which must be her future--the settled life, the life of Society and not of the Saracen.
After he had told his boyhood story they sat in silence for a moment or two, then she rose, and, turning to him, was about to speak.