And she had been mistaken in her first love. She admitted that frankly. He whom she had worshipped had been an idol of clay, and she knew that it was well for her to have abandoned that idolatry. He had not only been untrue to her, but, worse than that, had been false in excusing his untruth. He had not only promised falsely, but had made such promises with a deliberate, premeditated falsehood. And he had been selfish, coldly selfish, weighing the value of his own low lusts against that of her holy love. She had known this, and had parted from him with an oath to herself that no promised contrition on his part should ever bring them again together. But she had pardoned him as a man, though never as a lover, and had bade him welcome again as a cousin and as her friend's brother. She had again become very anxious as to his career, not hiding her regard, but professing that anxiety aloud. She knew him to be clever, ambitious, bold,--and she believed even yet, in spite of her own experience, that he might not be bad at heart. 
And she had been mistaken in her first love. She admitted that frankly. She had worshipped an idol of clay, and had done the best thing in abandoning that idolatry. George had not only been untrue to her, but had made false excuses. He had made promises with a deliberate, premeditated falsehood. And he had been coldly selfish, weighing the value of his own low lusts against that of her love. She had known this, and had parted vowing to herself that no contrition on his part should ever bring them together again.
But though she did not pardon him as a lover, she had again welcomed him as a cousin, and as her friend Kate's brother. She had become very anxious about his career. She knew him to be clever, ambitious, bold - and perhaps not bad at heart. 