In her opinion he was much too apt to forget that the world yields itself only to the "violent." He walked away from the house without once looking back.

Marcella, from, her window, watched him go.
"How _could_ she see him ?" she asked herself passionately, both then and on many other occasions during these rushing, ghastly days.

His turn would come, and it should be amply given him.

But _now_ the very thought of that half-hour in Lord Maxwell's library threw her into wild tears.
The time for entreaty--for argument--was gone by, so far as he was concerned.

He might have been her champion, and would not.