'In a far part of London.' 'And we meet here, where I seemed to find myself by the merest chance.

I saw a stranger in the distance, and thought of yourself; I knew you long before you looked up from your reading.' Emily tried to smile.
'How little you are changed!' Wilfrid continued, his voice keeping still its awed quietness, with under-notes of feeling.

'Rather, you are not changed at all.' It was not true, but in the few minutes that he had gazed at her, past and present had so blended that he could not see what another would have noticed.

Emily was appreciably older, and ill-health had set marks upon her face.

A stranger looking at her now would have found it hard to imagine her with the light of joy in her eyes; her features had set themselves in sorrow.