She was on the point of replying "Do you and she agree together for what you'll say to me ?"--but she was glad afterwards to have checked herself in time, little as her actual answer had perhaps bettered it.

"I think I don't know what to make of you." "You must receive me at least," he said.
"Oh, please, not till I'm ready for you!"-- and, though she found a laugh for it, she had to turn away.

She had never turned away from him before, and it was quite positively for her as if she were altogether afraid of him.
XVI Later on, when their hired brougham had, with the long vociferation that tormented her impatience, been extricated from the endless rank, she rolled into the London night, beside her husband, as into a sheltering darkness where she could muffle herself and draw breath.

She had stood for the previous half-hour in a merciless glare, beaten upon, stared out of countenance, it fairly seemed to her, by intimations of her mistake.
For what she was most immediately feeling was that she had, in the past, been active, for these people, to ends that were now bearing fruit and that might yet bear a larger crop.

She but brooded, at first, in her corner of the carriage: it was like burying her exposed face, a face too helplessly exposed, in the cool lap of the common indifference, of the dispeopled streets, of the closed shops and darkened houses seen through the window of the brougham, a world mercifully unconscious and unreproachful.