It seemed to her as if she had been mad, and in that madness had thrown away the only thing in the world she would ever value.

The thought of acknowledging her fault was not repugnant to her; she had no special objection to groveling, but she knew it would do no good.

Vincent, though not ungenerous, saw clearly; and he had summed up the situation in that terrible phrase about choosing between loving and being loved.

"I suppose I shouldn't respect him much if he did forgive me," she thought; and suddenly she felt his arms about her; he snatched her to him, turned her face to his, calling her by strange, unpremeditated terms of endearment.

Beyond these, no words at all were exchanged between them; they were undesired.