To none other had she ever pretended love.

From none other had love been offered to her.

Between her and that wretched being to whom she had sold herself, who had been half dead before she had seen him, there had been no pretence of love.

But Harry Clavering she had loved.

Harry Clavering was a man, with all those qualities which she valued, and also with those foibles which saved him from being too perfect for so slight a creature as herself.