On meeting her in the drawing-room, he gave her his hand as usual; hers returned no pressure.

She seemed as cheerful as ever in her talk with others; him she kept apart from.

He could not make up his mind to write.
She had refused to accept such proof of his sincerity as it wag in his power to offer, and Wilfrid made this an excuse--idle as he knew it to be--for maintaining a dignified silence.

Dignified, he allowed himself to name it; yet he knew perfectly well that his attitude had one very ignoble aspect, since he all but consciously counted upon Beatrice's love to bring her back to his feet.

He said to himself: Let her interpret my silence as she will; if she regard it as evidence of inability to face her--well, I make no objection.