He was certainly doing his best to replace their friendship on that level of high comradeship in ideas and causes which, as she told herself, it had once occupied.

His own wanton aggression and her weakness had toppled it down thence, and brought it to ruin.

She could never speak to him, never know him again till it was re-established.

Still his letters galled her.

He assumed, she supposed, that such a thing could happen, and nothing more be said about it?
How little he knew her, or what she had in her mind! Now, as she walked along, wrapped in her plaid cape, her thought was one long tumultuous succession of painful or passionate images, interrupted none the less at times by those curious self-observing pauses of which she had always been capable.