For one who knew her, her manner implied, not that she liked him any more, but that a man so well trained to his own profession must always hold his own.
As for Marcella, she said little or nothing.

But Wharton, in the dark of the carriage, had a strange sense that her eye was often on him, that her mood marched with his, and that if he could have spoken her response would have been electric.
When he had helped her out of the carriage, and they stood in the vestibule--Mrs.Boyce having walked on into the hall--he said to her, his voice hoarse with fatigue: "Did I do your bidding, did I rouse them ?" Marcella was seized with sudden shyness.
"You rated them enough." "Well, did you disapprove ?" "Oh, no! it seems to be your way." "My proof of friendship?
Well, can there be a greater?
Will you show me some to-morrow ?" "How can I ?" "Will you criticise ?--tell me where you thought I was a fool to-night, or a hypocrite?
Your mother would." "I dare say!" said Marcella, her breath quickening; "but don't expect it from me." "Why ?" "Because--because I don't pretend.

I don't know whether you roused them, but you roused _me_." She swept on before him into the dark hall, without giving him a moment for reply, took her candle, and disappeared.
Wharton found his own staircase, and went up to bed.

The light he carried showed his smiling eyes bent on the ground, his mouth still moving as though with some pleasant desire of speech..