Farron cared, perhaps, no more for appearances than Adelaide did, but his habitual manner was much better adapted to concealment.

In him the fluctuations between the deepest depression and the highest elation were accompanied by such slight variations of look and tone that they escaped almost every one but Adelaide herself.

He came down to dinner that evening, and while Adelaide sat in silence, with her elbows on the table and her long fingers clasping and unclasping themselves in a sort of rhythmic desperation, conversation went on pleasantly enough between Mathilde and Vincent.

This was facilitated by the fact that Mathilde had now transferred to Vincent the flattering affection which she used to give to her grandfather.

She agreed with, wondered at, and drank in every word.
Naturally, Mathilde attributed her mother's distress to the crisis in her own love-affairs.