And suddenly something checked her--the physical recollection, as it were, left tingling in her hand, of the grasp by which Buntingford had upheld her, as she was leaving the boat.

With it went a vision of his face, his dark, furrowed face, in the moonlight.
"The saddest man I know." Why and wherefore?
Long after she was in bed, she lay awake, absorbed in a dreamy yet intense gathering together of all that she could recollect of Cousin Philip, from her childhood up, through her school years, and down to her mother's death.

Till now he had been part of the more or less pleasant furniture of life.

She seemed to be on the way to realize him as a man--perhaps a force.

It was unsuspected--and rather interesting..