"The man wasn't worth it."

Nan gave a faint, irrepressible start. Recovering herself quickly, she
contrived a short laugh.

"You don't know him--" she began.

"But I know you."

"This is only our second meeting."

"What of that? I know you well enough to be sure--quite sure--that you
wouldn't give unasked. You're too proud, too analytical, and--at
present--too little passionate."

Nan's face whitened. It was true; she had not given unasked, for
although Maryon Rooke had never actually asked her to marry him, his
whole attitude had been that of the demanding lover.

"You're rather an uncanny person," she said at last, slowly. "You
understand--too much."

"_Tout comprendre--c'est tout pardonner_," quoted Mallory gently.

Nan fenced.

"And do I need pardon?" she asked.

"Yes," he answered simply, "You're not the woman God meant you to be.
You're too critical, too cold--without passion."