To him she looked taller, more beautiful, more stately than ever--her superb costume suited her to perfection--yet he looked coldly into the depths of her dark eyes, and without a word or sign of greeting passed on.
He never knew whether she was hurt or not, but he decided that he would leave London at once.

He was a sensitive man more tender of heart than men as a rule, and their meeting had been a source of torture to him.

He could not endure even the thought that Philippa should have lost all claim to his respect.

He decided to go to Tintagel, in wild, romantic Cornwall; at least there would be boating, fishing, and the glorious scenery.
"I must go somewhere," he said to himself--"I must do something.

My life hangs heavy on my hands--how will it end ?" So in sheer weariness and desperation he went to Tintagel, having, as he thought, kept his determination to himself, as he wished no one to know whither he had retreated.