The shock of their first meeting at Martindale, when all her pent-up yearning and vague expectation had been met and crushed by the silent force of the man's unaltered will, had passed away.

She understood him better.

The woman who is beloved penetrates to the fact through all the disguises that a lover may attempt.

Elizabeth knew well that Anderson had tones and expressions for her that no other woman could win from him; and looking back to their conversation at the Glacier House, she realised, night after night, in the silence of wakeful hours, the fulness of his confession, together with the strength of his recoil from any pretension to marry her.
Yes, he loved her, and his mere anxiety--now, and as things stood--to avoid any extension or even repetition of their short-lived intimacy, only betrayed the fact the more eloquently.

Moreover, he had reason, good reason, to think, as she often passionately reminded herself, that he had touched her heart, and that had the course been clear, he might have won her.
But--the course was not clear.