Twice, morning and afternoon, did he view Mrs.Wade's cottage from a distance.

Just after sunset he was once more in that neighbourhood, and this time with a purpose.
At that hour Mrs.Wade and her guest were together in the sitting-room.
The lamp had just been lighted, the red blind drawn down.

Lilian reclined on a couch; she looked worse in health than when she had taken leave of Denzil; her eyes told of fever, and her limbs were relaxed.
Last night she had not enjoyed an hour of sleep; the strange room and the recollection of Northway's visit to this house (Quarrier, in his faith that Mrs.Wade's companionship was best for Lilian, had taken no account of the disagreeable association) kept her nerves in torment, and with the morning she had begun to suffer from a racking headache.
Mrs.Wade was talking, seated by the table, on which her arms rested.
She, too, had a look of nervous tension, and her voice was slightly hoarse.
"Ambition," she said, with a slow emphasis, "is the keynote of Mr.
Quarrier's character.

If you haven't understood that, you don't yet know him--indeed you don't! A noble ambition, mind.

He is above all meanness.