"I think that I must have an unfortunate temperament, there are so few people for whom I really care." He took his courage into both hands.
"I have heard it rumoured," he said, "that Matinsky is the only man who has ever touched your heart." She shook her head.
"That is not the truth.

Paul Matinsky cares for me in his strange way, and he has a curiously exaggerated appreciation of my brain.

There have been times," she went on, after a moment's hesitation, "when I myself have been disturbed by fancies concerning him, but those times have passed." "I am glad," he said quietly.
His fingers, straying across the tablecloth, met hers.

She did not withdraw them.

He clasped her hand, and it remained for a moment passive in his.