Tapping the ground with his staff, he walked with nervous haste, looking upward the while, as blind men often look.
Harkness did not look much out of the window; he was inspecting Eliza's face: and when she turned to him he gave her a glance that, had she been a weaker woman, would have been translated into many words--question and invective; but her silence dominated him.

It was a look also that, had he been a stronger man, he would have kept to himself, for it served no purpose but to betray that there was some undercurrent of antagonism to her in his mind.
"You're very queer to-day, Mr.Harkness," she remarked, and with that she withdrew.
But when the door closed she was not really gone to the young man.

He saw her as clearly with his mind as a moment before he had seen her with his eyes, and he pondered now the expression on her face when she looked out of the window.

It told him, however, absolutely nothing of the secret he was trying to wring from her.
There was no square in Chellaston, no part of the long street much wider than any other or more convenient as a public lounging place.
Here, in front of the hotel, was perhaps the most open spot, and Harkness hoped the old man would make a stand here and preach; but he turned aside and went down a small side street, so Harkness, who had no desire to identify himself too publicly with his strange _protege_, was forced to leave to the curiosity of others the observation of his movements.
The curiosity of people in the street also seemed to abate.

The more respectable class of people are too proud to show interest in the same way that gaping children show it, and most people in this village belonged to the more respectable class.