Her only recognition of the reverential and considerate tenderness which he showed her was an occasional air of wonder that cut him to the quick.

Shame, sorrow, and despair had incrusted her heart with a hard shell, impenetrable to genial emotions.

Nor would all his love help him to get over the impression that she was no longer an acquaintance and familiar friend, but somehow a stranger.
So far as he could find out, she did absolutely nothing all day except to sit brooding.

He could not discover that she so much as opened the books and magazines he sent her, and, to the best of his knowledge, she made little more use of her piano.

His calls were sadly dreary affairs.