There was, moreover, about her an innate reserve which held her back where her deepest feelings were concerned.

But her father knew, and she meant him to know, that neither time nor distance had eradicated the image of the man she loved from her heart.

The days on which his letters reached her were always marked with a secret gladness, albeit the letters themselves held sometimes little more than affectionate commentary upon her own.
That Guy was making his way and that he would eventually return to her were practical certainties in her young mind.

If his letters contained little to support this belief, she yet never questioned it for a moment.

Guy was the sort to get on.