There she sits; not a screw of her brows or her lips; and the coach rocked, they were sharp on a spill midway of the last descent.

It rocks again.

She thinks it scarce worth while to look up to reassure him.

She is looking over the country.
'Have you been used to driving ?' he said.
She replied: 'No, it is new to me on a coach.' Carinthia felt at once how wild the wish or half expectation that he would resume the glowing communion of the night which had plighted them.
She did not this time say 'my husband,' still it flicked a whip at his ears.
She had made it more offensive, by so richly toning the official title just won from him as to ring it on the nerves; one had to block it or be invaded.

An anticipation that it would certainly recur haunted every opening of her mouth.
Now that it did not, he felt the gap, relieved, and yet pricked to imagine a mimicry of her tones, for the odd foreignness of the word and the sound.