This she had seen in her husband, too, the same brisk
lifting of the head, the same quick smiling. Yet this face, unlike
Eglington's, expressed a perfect single-mindedness; it wore the look of a
self-effacing man of luminous force, a concentrated battery of energy.
Since she had last seen him every sign of the provincial had vanished. He
was now the well-modulated man of affairs, elegant in his simplicity of
dress, with the dignified air of the intellectual, yet with the decision
of a man who knew his mind.
Lord Windlehurst was leaving. Now David and she were alone. Without a
word they moved on together through the throng, the eyes of all following
them, until they reached a quiet room at one end of the salon, where were
only a few people watching the crowd pass the doorway.
"You will be glad to sit," he said, motioning her to a chair beside some
palms. Then, with a change of tone, he added: "Thee is not sorry I am
come?"
Thee--the old-fashioned simple Quaker word! She put her fingers to her
eyes. Her senses were swimming with a distant memory.
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