He had given up his sacred lunch-hour in response to her imperious demand and to his own intense pity for her sorrow.
He did not know her, but he had had her pointed out to him, and though he recognized the unreason of such an attitude, he was aware that her great beauty dramatized her suffering, so that his pity for her was uncommonly alive.
He was a young man, with a finely cut face and a blond complexion.

His pity was visible, quivering a little under his mask of impassivity.
Adelaide's first thought on seeing him was, "Good Heavens! another man to be emotionally calmed before I can get at the truth!" She had to be tactful, to let him see that she was not going to make a scene.

She knew that he felt it himself, but she was not grateful to him.

What business had he to feel it?
His feeling was an added burden, and she felt that she had enough to carry.
He did not make the mistake, however, of expressing his sympathy verbally.

His answers were as cold and clear as she could wish.