"_He_ knows well enough what's the matter with you." The nature of the crime was such that there was no possibility or explanation or defence against the accuser whose condemnation weighed heaviest on her soul.

He loomed before her, hovered over her, with the tubes of the heart-probing stethoscope in his ears (as a matter of fact they gave him a somewhat grotesque appearance, remotely suggestive of a Hindoo idol; but Miss Quincey had not noticed that); his bumpy forehead was terrible with intelligence; his eyes were cold and comprehensive; the smile of a foregone conclusion flickered on his lips.
He must have known it all the time.

There never had been any misunderstanding.

That was the clue to his conduct; that was the reason why he had left off coming to the house; for he was the soul of delicacy and honour.

And yet she had never said a word that might be interpreted--He must have seen it in her face, then,--that day--when she allowed herself to sit with him in the park.