And let it be remembered that, before his absolute refusal to answer her crucial question about his prime motive for the marriage, Rachel had grown rather to like that place.
They had been strolling quite apart, though chatting amiably.

Rachel had not dreamt of putting her hand within his arm, as she had sometimes done towards the end before their quarrel.

Yet she did it again now, the very moment his quicker vision descried the cyclist in the drive.
"I hope they are not going to run me in to-night," he said.

"If they do, I shall run _them_ in for riding without a light.

So it's Langholm! Well, Langholm, put salt on him yet ?" "On whom ?" "Your murderer, of course." "I have his confession in my pocket." It was the first time that Rachel had known her husband taken visibly aback.
"Good God!" he cried.