Some photographs of myself came for me by post, and they were handed round at the breakfast table and criticised.

I put them temporarily on a side table, and did not remember them until an hour afterwards when I was in my own room.

On going to fetch them I discovered him standing at the table with his back towards the door bending over the photographs, one of which he raised to his lips.
The witnessing this act so frightened me that I crept away to escape observation.

It was the climax to a series of slight and significant actions all tending to the same conclusion.

The question for me now is, what am I to do?
To go away is what first occurs to me, but what reason can I give Caroline and my father for such a step; besides, it might precipitate some sort of catastrophe by driving Charles to desperation.
For the present, therefore, I have decided that I can only wait, though his contiguity is strangely disturbing to me now, and I hardly retain strength of mind to encounter him.