What else lay latent--if anything--I may only surmise.

It is all dead.
"The blow dealt me that evening--an hour before I first laid eyes on you--utterly changed me; and if there was anything spiritual in my character it died then.

And left what you had a glimpse of--just a man, pagan, material, unmoral, unsafe; unmoved by anything except by what appeals to the material senses.
"Is that the kind of man you suppose me?
That is the man I am.
And you _know_ it now.

And you know, now, what it was in me that left you perplexed, silent, troubled, not comprehending--why it was you would not dance with me again, nor suffer my touch, nor endure me too near you.
"It was the less noble in me--all that the blow had not killed--only a lesser part of a finer and perfect passion that might perhaps have moved you to noble response in time.
"Because I should have given you all at the first meeting; I could no more have helped it than I could have silenced my heart and lived.

But what was left to give could awake in you no echo, no response, no comprehension.