If he stayed and saw her any more he would not be able to leave her at all.

He knew he would only break his promise to Henry--tell Sabine that he had fallen madly in love with her--implore her again to forgive him for everything in the past and let them begin afresh.

But he was faced with the horrible thought of the anguish to Henry--Henry, his old friend, who trusted him and who was ten times more worthy of this dear woman than he was himself.
He had never been so full of impotency and misery in his life--not even on that morning in June when he woke and found Sabine had left him--defied him and gone--after everything.

Pure rage had come to his aid then--but now he had only remorse and longing--and anger with fate.
"It must all depend upon whether or no she loves Henry," he said to himself at last--"and this I will make her tell me this very afternoon." But when he got back and went into the garden he happened to witness a scene.
Sabine--overcome by Lord Fordyce's goodness, had let him hold her arm while her head was perilously near to his shoulder.

It all looked very intimate and lover-like when seen from afar.