He shook hands with Rowland in silence.
"Mr.Mallet refuses to say a word," Mrs.Light went on.

"Time presses, every moment is precious.

Heaven knows what that poor boy may be doing.
If at this moment a clever woman should get hold of him she might be as ugly as she pleased! It 's horrible to think of it." The Cavaliere fixed his eyes on Rowland, and his look, which the night before had been singular, was now most extraordinary.

There was a nameless force of anguish in it which seemed to grapple with the young man's reluctance, to plead, to entreat, and at the same time to be glazed over with a reflection of strange things.
Suddenly, though most vaguely, Rowland felt the presence of a new element in the drama that was going on before him.

He looked from the Cavaliere to Mrs.Light, whose eyes were now quite dry, and were fixed in stony hardness on the floor.
"If you could bring yourself," the Cavaliere said, in a low, soft, caressing voice, "to address a few words of solemn remonstrance to Miss Light, you would, perhaps, do more for us than you know.