As soon as the door had closed, she stood to receive him, but not with extended hand.

Her eyes were fixed upon him steadily, and Wilfrid, with difficulty meeting them, experienced a shook of new fear, a kind of fear he could not account for.

Outwardly she was quite calm; it was something in her look, an indefinable suggestion of secret anguish, that impressed him so.

He did not try to take her hand, but, having laid down his hat, came near to her and spoke as quietly as he could.
'May I speak to you of what passed between us last Monday ?' 'How can we avoid speaking of it ?' she replied, in a low voice, her eyes still searching him.
'I ought to have come to see you before this,' Wilfrid continued, taking the seat to which she pointed, whilst she also sat down.

'I could not.' 'I have been expecting you,' Beatrice said, in an emotionless way.
The nervous tension with which he had come into her presence had yielded to a fit of trembling.