Now she and Michaelis sat on opposite sides of the fire and talked. She asked him about himself, his mother and father, his brothers⁠ ⁠… other people were always something of a wonder to her, and when her sympathy was awakened she was quite devoid of class feeling. Michaelis talked frankly about himself, quite frankly, without affectation, simply revealing his bitter, indifferent, stray-dog’s soul, then showing a gleam of revengeful pride in his success.

“But why are you such a lonely bird?” Connie asked him; and again he looked at her, with his full, searching, hazel look.

“Some birds are that way,” he replied. Then, with a touch of familiar irony; “but, look here, what about yourself? Aren’t you by way of being a lonely bird yourself?” Connie, a little startled, thought about it for a few moments, and then she said: “Only in a way! Not altogether, like you!”