She longed to spring to him and hold him in her arms, but other thoughts paralysed the impulse.

Had there lain nothing in the background, had his falsehood, his weakness, been all, she could have comforted and strengthened him with pure pity and love.

But the consciousness of what was before her killed her power to stead him in his misery.

She could not speak out her very thought, and to palter with solemn words was impossible.

Hypocrisy from her to him at this moment--hypocrisy, however coloured with sincere feeling, would have sunk her in her own eyes beyond redemption.
'Let us speak no more of it, father,' she replied without raising her head.
He was sober enough now, and in her voice, her attitude, he read his hopeless condemnation.