She stood superbly, as a queen might dismiss one from whom her thoughts were already wandering.

He bowed, with inward self-mockery, and left her.
Some hours later, when already the summer evening had cloaked itself, Wilfrid found himself wandering by the river, not far from Hammersmith.
The influence of a great water flowing from darkness into darkness was strong upon him; he was seeking for a hope in the transitoriness of all things earthly.

Would not the hour come when this present anguish, this blood-poisoning shame, would have passed far away and have left no mark?
Was it not thinking too grandiosely to attribute to the actions of such a one as himself a tragic gravity?
Was there not supernal laughter at the sight of him, Wilfrid Athel, an English gentleman, a member of the Lower House of the British Parliament, posing as the arbiter of destinies?
What did it all come to?
An imbroglio on the threshold of matrimony; a temporary doubt which of two women was to enjoy the honour of styling herself Mrs.Athel.The day's long shame led to this completeness of self-contempt.

As if Beatrice would greatly care! Why, in his very behaviour he had offered the cure for her heartburn; and her calmness showed how effective the remedy would be.

The very wife whom he held securely had only been won by keeping silence; tell her the story of the last few days, and behold him altogether wifeless.