She had no answer in her mind for her father's unspoken dissatisfaction, and she had to conceal her cruel anxiety.

There was an interval of two months: a blank fell charged with apprehension that was like the humming of a toneless wind before storm; worse than the storm, for any human thing to bear.
Rhoda was unaware that Robert, who rarely looked at her, and never sought to speak a word to her when by chance they met and were alone, studied each change in her face, and read its signs.

He was left to his own interpretation of them, but the signs he knew accurately.

He knew that her pride had sunk, and that her heart was desolate.

He believed that she had discovered her sister's misery.
One day a letter arrived that gave her no joyful colouring, though it sent colour to her cheeks.