the cruel decision as to whether she should come forward to him or
not. He was not aware that her husband had forbidden her to have any
communication with him; yet he had guessed as much, partly from his
knowledge of Lavender's impatient disposition, and partly from the
glance he caught of her eyes when he woke up from his trance.

Young Mosenberg turned with surprise to his companion. She was passing
on: he did not even see that she had bowed to Ingram, with a face
flushed with shame and pain and with eyes cast down. Ingram, too, was
passing on, without even shaking hands with her or uttering a word.
Mosenberg was too bewildered to attempt any protest: he merely
followed Sheila, with a conviction that something desperate had
occurred, and that he would best consult her feelings by making no
reference to it.

But that one look that the girl had directed to her old friend before
she bowed and passed on had filled him with dismay and despair. It
was somehow like the piteous look of a wounded animal, incapable
of expressing its pain. All thoughts and fancies of his own little
vexations or embarrassments were instantly banished from him: he could
only see before him those sad and piteous eyes, full of kindness
to him, he thought, and of grief that she should be debarred from
speaking to him, and of resignation to her own lot.

Gwdyr House did not get much work out of him that day. He sat in a
small room in a back part of the building, looking out on a lonely
little square, silent and ruddy with the reflected light of the
sunset.

"A hundred Mrs. Kavanaghs," he was thinking to himself bitterly