Her suspicions of yesterday died away, or, at all events, slept so soundly that they could not have troubled her less had they been dead.
"Sylvia," he said, "I think London in August, and in such an August, is too hot.

I don't want to see you grow pale, and for myself I haven't had a holiday for a long time.

You see there is not much temptation for a lonely man to go away by himself." For the second time that day he appealed to her on the ground of his loneliness; and not in vain.

She began even to feel remorseful that she had left him to his loneliness so long.

There rose up within her an almost maternal feeling of pity for her father.