She knew quite well that he represented a type.

They were of the nobility, and they seemed to her in that one poignant but unwelcome moment, hatefully degenerate, men no self-respecting girl could ever think of.

Family influence, stern parental words, the call of her order, had half crushed these thoughts.
They came back now, however, with persistent force.
"You see," Richard Lane went on, "it mayn't be much that I have to offer you, but in your heart I know you feel what it means to be offered the love of a man who doesn't want you just because you are of his order, or because you are the daughter of a Personage, or for any other reason than because he cares for you as he has cared for no other woman on earth, and because, without knowing it, he has waited for you." She moved restlessly in her chair.

Their conversation was not going in the least along the lines which she had intended.

She suddenly remembered her own disquiet of the day before, her curious longing to steal off on some excuse to-day.