She shivered and was silent, looking straight out across the moonlit sea.

Then in a small trembling voice, like a child's, she pleaded, still holding her face averted: "Don't go away from me, Hilary! Oh, please! Don't go away from me now!" Her voice, her words, went to Chayne's heart.

He knew that pride and a certain reticence were her natural qualities.

That she should throw aside the one, break through the other, proved to him indeed how very much she cared, how very much she needed him.
"Sylvia," he cried, "it will only be for a little while"; and again silence followed upon his words.
Since bad news was to be imparted, strength was needed to bear it; and habit had long since taught Sylvia that silence was the best nurse of strength.

She did not turn her face toward her lover; but she drooped her head and clenched her hands tightly together upon her knees, nerving herself for the blow.