Arkwright never forgot the look on her face as her eyes met his.

There was a curious mixture of terror, hurt pride, relief, and shame, overtopped by a fierce loyalty which almost seemed to say aloud the words: "Don't you dare to blame him!" Arkwright's heart ached with sympathy and admiration at the proudly courageous way in which Billy carried off the next few painful minutes.
Even when he bade her good night a little later, only her eyes said "thank you." Her lips were dumb.
Arkwright often went home with Bertram after that.

Not that it was always necessary--far from it.

Some time, indeed, elapsed before he had quite the same excuse again for his presence.

But he had found that occasionally he could get Bertram home earlier by adroit suggestions of one kind or another; and more and more frequently he was succeeding in getting him home for a game of chess.
Bertram liked chess, and was a fine player.