He took her hand, found she did not resist, drew it to him, and clasping it in both his, bent his brow, his lips upon it.
It shook in his hold, but she was passive.

The mixture of emotion and self-control she showed touched him deeply.

In his chivalrous modesty he asked for nothing else, dreamt of nothing more.
Half an hour later they were still in the same spot.

There had been much talk between them, most of it earnest, but some of it quite gay, broken especially by her smiles.

Her teasing mood, however, had passed away.
She was instead composed and dignified, like one conscious that life had opened before her to great issues.
Yet she had flinched often before that quiet tone of eager joy in which he had described his first impressions of her, his surprise at finding in her ideals, revolts, passions, quite unknown to him, so far, in the women of his own class.