She had, since she left school, met many eligible young men at houses to which her mother had grudgingly taken her--young men who had been nice to her, flattered her, and flirted with her.

But she had treated them all with coquettish disdain, for in the world there was but one man who was her lover and her hero--her old friend Walter Murie.
At this moment, as they were together in that cosy, well-furnished room, she became seized by a twinge of conscience.

She knew quite well that she was not treating him as she ought.

She had not been at all enthusiastic at his return, and she had inquired but little about his wanderings.

Indeed, she had treated him with a studied indifference, as though his life concerned her but little.