Was that not enough?
It was nothing like enough.

The facts were there to speak for themselves: he was an altered man; anxiety, sorrow, remorse--one or the other seemed to have got possession of him.
Judging by Mrs.Linley's gayety of manner, his wife could not possibly have been taken into his confidence.
What did it mean?
Oh, the useless, hopeless question! And yet, again and again she asked herself: what did it mean?
In bewildered wretchedness she lingered on the way to her room, and stopped at the end of a corridor.
On her right hand, a broad flight of old oak stairs led to the bed-chambers on the second floor of the house.

On her left hand, an open door showed the stone steps which descended to the terrace and the garden.

The moonlight lay in all its loveliness on the flower-beds and the grass, and tempted her to pause and admire it.

A prospect of sleepless misery was the one prospect before her that Sydney could see, if she retired to rest.