For a moment she could not even look up.

She was conscious of nothing beyond the one great fact that she and Peter were alone together--alone, yet as much divided as though the whole world lay between them.
At last, with an effort, she raised her eyes and saw him standing beside her.

A stifled cry escaped her.

Throughout dinner, while the Fentons had been present, he had smiled and talked much as usual, so that the change in the man had been less noticeable.

But the mask was off now, and in repose his face showed, so worn and ravaged by grief that Nan cried out involuntarily in pitiful dismay.
Her first impulse was to fold her arms about him, drawing that lined and altered face against her bosom, hiding from sight the stark bitterness of the eyes that met her own, and comforting him as only the woman who loves a man knows how.
Then, like a black, surging flood, the memory of all that kept them apart rushed over her and she drew back her arms, half-raised, falling limply to her sides.