He watched the pair until he was descried.
There was no help for it.

Though his brain whirled, and his flesh was stabbed, he had no choice but to take the hand Barfoot offered him.
Smile he could not, nor speak a word.
'So you have come after all ?' Monica was saying to him.
He nodded.

On her countenance there was obvious embarrassment, but this needed no explanation save the history of the last day or two.

Looking into her eyes, he knew not whether consciousness of wrong might be read there.

How to get at the secrets of this woman's heart?
Barfoot was talking, pointing at this picture and that, doing his best to smooth what he saw was an awkward situation.