But I do not care [there was a suspicious moisture in her eyes and a queer tightening of the lips that gave the lie to this declaration] how you treat me.

I intend to keep my promise to your father, no matter what you do.

But I want to make you understand that I am not the kind of woman you take me to be--that I am not being made a fool of by Neal Taggart--or by any man!" Calumet did not reply; the effect of this passionate defense of herself on him was deep and poignant, and words would not come to his lips.
Truth had spoken to him--he knew it.

At a stroke she had subdued him, humbled him.

It was as though a light had suddenly been turned on him, showing him the mean, despicable side of him, contrasting it with the little good which had come into being--good which had been placed there, fostered, and cultivated into promise.