He could recall himself, of course, by a word or a movement--but why?
She was happier thus.

She needed nothing that he could give her.

And for him, too, perhaps, it was best to keep aloof, only to know that she existed, to preserve what he already had--perfect, remote, and unbroken.

Further, her still look, standing among the orchids in that hot atmosphere, strangely illustrated some scene that he had imagined in his room at home.

The sight, mingling with his recollection, kept him silent when the door was shut and they were walking on again.
But though she did not speak, Katharine had an uneasy sense that silence on her part was selfishness.