But there was a new quietness about him which she had wondered at.

She almost guessed.

She would leave him alone, however.
Precipitation might spoil things.

She watched him in his loneliness, wondering where he would end.

He was sick, and much too quiet for him.
There was a perpetual little knitting of his brows, such as she had seen when he was a small baby, and which had been gone for many years.