She certainly did not look like a woman whom a man might ill treat or scorn with impunity. Paul felt, even while she was lavishing her caresses upon him, that she might too probably turn and rend him before he left her. He had known something of her temper before, though he had also known the truth and warmth of her love. He had travelled with her from San Francisco to England, and she had been very good to him in illness, in distress of mind and in poverty,--for he had been almost penniless in New York. When they landed at Liverpool they were engaged as man and wife. He had told her all his affairs, had given her the whole history of his life. This was before his second journey to America, when Hamilton K. Fisker was unknown to him. But she had told him little or nothing of her own life,--but that she was a widow, and that she was travelling to Paris on business. When he left her at the London railway station, from which she started for Dover, he was full of all a lover's ardour. He had offered to go with her, but that she had declined. But when he remembered that he must certainly tell his friend Roger of his engagement, and remembered also how little he knew of the lady to whom he was engaged, he became embarrassed. What were her means he did not know. He did know that she was some years older than himself, and that she had spoken hardly a word to him of her own family. She had indeed said that her husband had been one of the greatest miscreants ever created, and had spoken of her release from him as the one blessing she had known before she had met Paul Montague. But it was only when he thought of all this after she had left him,--only when he reflected how bald was the story which he must tell Roger Carbury,--that he became dismayed. Such had been the woman's cleverness, such her charm, so great her power of adaptation, that he had passed weeks in her daily company, with still progressing intimacy and affection, without feeling that anything had been missing.

She did not look like a woman whom a man might scorn unpunished. Paul felt, even while she was caressing him, that she might well turn and rend him before he left her. He had known something of her temper before, though he had also known the truth and warmth of her love.
He had travelled with her from San Francisco to England, and she had been very good to him in illness, distress and poverty - for he had been almost penniless in New York. When they landed at Liverpool they were engaged to marry. He had given her the whole history of his life. This was when Hamilton K. Fisker was unknown to him. But she had told him little or nothing of her own life, except that she was a widow, travelling to Paris on business. When he left her at the London railway station, he was full of a lover's ardour.
But when he remembered that he must tell his friend Roger of his engagement, and remembered also how little he knew of Mrs. Hurtle, he became embarrassed. She had spoken hardly a word of her own family, although she had said that her husband had been a great miscreant, and her release from him had been the one blessing she had known before she had met Paul Montague. After she had left him, he reflected how bald was the story which he must tell Roger Carbury, and became dismayed. Such had been the woman's cleverness and charm, that he had passed weeks in her daily company without feeling that anything had been missing.
