"I do thank you." His utter silence made it hard for her.

He could see her hesitation, which made it hard for him, coveting sight of her always, loath to leave her.
Now a sudden wave of something, a directness and frankness born in some way in this new world apart from civilization, like a wind-blown flame, irresponsible and irresistible, swept over Molly Wingate's soul as swiftly, as unpremeditatedly as it had over his.

She was a young woman fit for love, disposed for love, at the age for love.

Now, to her horror, the clasp of this man's arm, even when repelled in memory, returned, remained in memory! She was frightened that it still remained--frightened at her own great curiousness.
"About--that"-- he knew what she meant--"I don't want you to think anything but the truth of me.

If you have deceived people, I don't want to deceive you." "What do you mean ?" He was a man of not very many words.
"About--that!" "You said it could never be." "No.