There was no stamp of turpitude on the end for which he would sacrifice so much and occasion so much misery.
He passed the time in his own rooms till the afternoon of the following day; then, at the customary hour, he set forth to visit Beatrice.

Would she see him?
In his heart he hoped that she would refuse to; yet he dreaded lest he should be told that she was too unwell.

It was a new thing in Wilfrid's experience to approach any door with shame and dread; between his ringing the bell and the servant's answer he learnt 'well what those words mean.
He was admitted as usual, the servant making no remark.

As usual, he was led to Beatrice's room.
She was sitting in the chair she always occupied, and was dressed with the accustomed perfection.

But her face was an index to the sufferings she had endured this past week.