But the traces in him of endurance and of pain were like the weathering of a fine building; mellowing had come, and strength had not been lost.
Yet still no word of feeling, of intimacy even.

Her soul cried out within her, but there was no answer.

Then, when it was time to dress, and she led him through the hall, to the inlaid staircase with its famous balustrading--early English ironwork of extraordinary delicacy--and through the endless corridors upstairs, old and dim, but crowded with portraits and fine furniture, Anderson looked round him in amazement.
"What a wonderful place!" "It is too old!" cried Elizabeth, petulantly; then with a touch of repentance--"Yet of course we love it.

We are not so stifled here as you would be." He smiled and did not reply.
"Confess you have been stifled--ever since you came to England." He drew a long breath, throwing back his head with a gesture which made Elizabeth smile.

He smiled in return.
"It was you who warned me how small it would all seem.