But both of them seemed a little less under a strain than they had been.

This new factor of a quarrel with an unknown woman seemed to open a loophole.

Olivia's colouring had lost some of its warmth; the contours of her face were less rounded.

Grey had manifestly taken a step backwards in his convalescence; his face was thinner, even a little haggard; there was a somewhat strained watchfulness in his eyes.
They could not tear themselves away from the pavilion till the last moment, and he walked back with her as far as the shrubbery on the edge of the East lawn, and there they parted after she had promised to meet him there that evening at nine.
As Olivia came into her sitting-room Elizabeth and James Hatchings came to the back door of the Castle.

She did not say good-bye at once; of set purpose, she lingered talking to him that the other servants might understand clearly that her attitude to him was definitely fixed.
But at last she held out her hand and said: "I must be getting along to her ladyship, or she'll be waiting for me." James Hutchings looked round, considered the coast sufficiently clear, caught her to him, kissed her, and said huskily: "You're just a ministering angel, Lizzie, and there's more sense in your little finger than in all my fat head.