He looked at her.
The confession of his love was just rising to his lips--he looked again, and checked it.

No, not at that moment; not when she was helpless and ashamed; not when her weakness might make her yield, only to regret it at a later time.

The great heart which had spared her and felt for her from the first spared her and felt for her now.
He, too, left her--but not without a word at parting.
"Don't think of your future life just yet," he said, gently.

"I have something to propose when rest and quiet have restored you." He opened the nearest door--the door of the dining-room--and went out.
The servants engaged in completing the decoration of the dinner-table noticed, when "Mr.Julian" entered the room, that his eyes were "brighter than ever." He looked (they remarked) like a man who "expected good news." They were inclined to suspect--though he was certainly rather young for it--that her ladyship's nephew was in a fair way of preferment in the Church.
Mercy seated herself on the couch.
There are limits, in the physical organization of man, to the action of pain.

When suffering has reached a given point of intensity the nervous sensibility becomes incapable of feeling more.