But the blindness of rage was upon her, and it is of the essence of this white-hot anger that it preys not on what is basest in us, but on what is best.

That Harold felt deeply was her opportunity to wound him more deeply than before.
'Even here in the solitude which I had chosen as the battleground of my shame you had need to come unasked, unthought of, when even a lesser mind than yours, for you are no fool, would have thought to leave me alone.

My shame was my own, I tell you; and I was learning to take my punishment.
My punishment! Poor creatures that we are, we think our punishment will be what we would like best: to suffer in silence, and not to have spread abroad our shame!' How she harped on that word, though she knew that every time she uttered it, it cut to the heart of the man who loved her.
'And yet you come right on top of my torture to torture me still more and illimitably.

You come, you who alone had the power to intrude yourself on my grief and sorrow; power given you by my father's kindness.

You come to me without warning, considerately telling me that you knew I would be here because I had always come here when I had been in trouble.
No--I do you an injustice.