Yet that appeared to be the spirit of the day. No one knew anything with certainty whether of politics or religion or human nature. She herself had clung persistently to most of the doctrines of her father in politics and religion, and found them adequate. But she could not accept his trusting confidence in the inherent honesty of men, except those of his generation. The world was simpler in his day. She had liked Allston from the start and been willing to accept him, up to a certain point, at his face value. She never expected to go beyond that point. As long as she viewed him merely objectively, she found him distinctly entertaining and a decided addition to her list of friends. Considering the circumstances of his introduction to the household, she was warranted in believing that here their relations would end. It was on this theory she had allowed herself so much freedom with him. Now this was all changed. He had thrust himself upon her attention in another fashion. When he seized her hand, the act, in itself, was trivial enough, as he had argued. But what it connoted was not trivial. And the effect it produced on her was not trivial. The blood which rushed to her face was not in protest at his boldness, even though for self-protection she had been obliged to make him think so. In reality it was a startling confession of weakness in herself. Had she been coldly indifferent or even righteously indignant, she could have forgotten the incident. But she could not forget the surge of a far different emotion that had swept through her. She had handled herself well considering the strength and unexpectedness of this attack. The carefully erected barriers of years had been swept away. She had found herself standing, self-dependent, facing this man in the grip of a passion so primitive it shocked her. She had been thrilled by the clasp of his strong fingers. For a few dizzy seconds she was merely some captured thing glad of her capture. Had she obeyed her desires, she would not have struggled at all--would neither have withdrawn her hand nor chided him. Wilmer faced the truth mercilessly. She made no attempt to equivocate or to excuse herself, though even here in the privacy of her room her cheeks flamed scarlet once again. She had been governed by instincts as primitive as anything she might expect of Roxie and she knew it. To be sure, she had conquered them. In the space of half a dozen frantic heartbeats she had mastered herself. But this did not blot out those other few seconds.